Tales  oj 
^  Vanishing  T\iver 

EARL  H.  REED 


TALES  OF 
A  VANISHING  RIVER 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

SKETCHES 
IN  DUNELAND 

THE 
DUNE  COUNTRY 

THE  VOICES 
OF  THE  DUNES 

ETCHING 
A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE 


(See  Page  15) 


A  Kankakee  Bayou 


Jjales  of 
Za   l/anlsliinq  T\iver 


by 

EARL  H.  REED 

Author  of 

"The  Dune  Country'* 

"Sketches  in  Duneland'' 

etc. 


Illustrated  by  the  Author 


NE^V  YORK -JOHN  LANE   CONIPANY 
LONDON  -JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 

MCMXX 


Copyright,  1920, 
Bt  John  Lane  Company 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 

New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


To 
MY    FRIEND 

H.  W.   J. 


FOREWORD 

THE  background  of  this  collection  of  sketches 
and   stories  is   the   country  through  which 
flowed  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  our 
western  rivers  before  its  destruction  as  a  natural 
waterway. 

This  book  is  not  a  history.  It  is  intended  as  an 
interpretation  of  the  life  along  the  river  that  the 
author  has  come  in  contact  with  during  many  years 
of  familiarity  with  the  region.  Names  of  places  and 
characters  have  been  changed  for  the  reason  that, 
while  effort  has  been  made  to  adhere  to  artistic 
truth,  literary  liberties  have  been  taken  with  facts 
when  they  have  not  seemed  essential  to  the  story. 

E.  H.  R. 


[7] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    The  Vanishing  River 15 

II    The  Silver  Arrow 31 

III  The  Brass  Bound  Box 47 

IV  The  "Wether  Book"  of  Buck  Granger's 

Grandfather 65 

V    Tipton  Posey's  Store 105 

VI    MusKRAT  Hyatt's  Redemption      ....  135 

VII    The  Turkey  Club 165 

VIII    The  Predicaments  of  Colonel  Peets    .     .  207 

IX    His  Unlucky  Star 245 


[9] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  Kankakee  Bayou Frontispiece 

Waukena Facing  Page  32 

Familiar  Haunts 48 

The  Old  Log  House 66 

Tipton  Posey 106 

"PUCKERBRUSH   BiLL" 120 

Swan  Peterson 122 

Dick  Shakes 130 

"Muskrat"  Hyatt 136 

The  Reverend  Daniel  Butters 148 

"Bill"  Styles 166 

Colonel  Jasper  M.  Peets        208 

Miss  Anastasia  Simpson 218 

The  Sheriff 264 


[11] 


I 

THE  VANISHING  RIVEE 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

SOMEWHERE  in  a  large  swampland,  about 
fifty  miles  east  of  the  southern  end  of  Lake 
Michigan,  the  early  French  explorers  found 
the  beginning  of  the  river. 

A  thread-like  current  crept  through  a  maze  of 
oozy  depressions,  quagmires,  seeping  bogs  and  little 
pools,  among  patches  of  sodden  brush,  alders  and 
rank  grass.  With  many  intricate  windings,  the 
vagrant  waters,  swollen  by  numberless  springs  and 
rivulets,  emerged  from  the  tangled  morass,  became 
a  living  stream,  and  began  its  long  and  tortuous 
journey  toward  the  southwest,  finally  to  be  lost  in 
the  immensity  of  unknown  floods  beyond. 

The  explorers  called  the  stream  the  Theakiki.  In 
the  changing  nomenclature  of  succeeding  years  it 
became  the  Kankakee.  It  was  the  main  confluent 
of  the  Illinois,  and  one  of  the  first  highways  of  the 
white  man  to  the  Mississippi. 

The  crude  topographic  charts  of  the  early 
voyagers  on  the  river  naturally  differ  much  in  detail 
and  accuracy,  but,  in  comparing  them  with  our  mod- 
em maps,  we  wonder  at  their  keen  observation  and 
the  painstaking  use  of  their  limited  facilities. 

[151 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

The  annals  of  their  journeys  are  replete  with 
description,  legend,  romance,  disheartening  hard- 
ship, and  unremitting  battle  at  the  barriers  of  nature 
against  her  would-be  conquerors. 

The  name  of  LaSalle,  that  resplendent  figure  in 
the  exploration  of  the  west,  will  be  forever  asso- 
ciated with  the  Kankakee.  There  are  few  pages  of 
historic  lore  more  absorbing  and  thrilling  to  the 
admirer  of  unflinching  fortitude  and  dauntless 
heroism  than  the  dramatic  story  of  this  knight 
errant  of  France,  and  his  intrepid  followers.  Among 
the  woods  and  waters,  and  on  the  desolate  frozen 
wastes  of  a  strange  land,  they  found  paths  that  led 
to  imperishable  renown.  They  were  avant-coureurs 
of  a  new  force  that  was  to  transform  a  wilderness 
into  an  empire,  but  an  empire  far  different  from  that 
of  their  hopes  and  dreams. 

LaSalle 's  little  band  had  ascended  the  St. 
Joseph,  and  had  portaged  their  belongings  from 
one  of  its  bends  about  five  miles  away.  They 
launched  their  canoes  on  the  narrow  tide  of  the 
Theakiki  and  descended  the  river  to  the  Illinois. 
The  incentives  of  the  expedition  were  to  expand  the 
dominions  of  Louis  the  XIV,  to  extend  the  pale  of 
the  cross,  and  to  find  new  fountains  that  would  pour 
forth  gold. 

For  gold  and  power  man  has  scarred  the  earth 
he  lives  upon  and  annihilated  its  creatures  since  the 
dawn  of  recorded  time,  and  for  gold  and  power  will 
he  struggle  to  the  end,  whatever  and  wherever  the 
end  may  be,  for  somewhere  in  the  scheme  of  crea- 

[16] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

tion  it  is  so  written.  The  moralist  may  find  the 
story  on  the  Vanishing  River,  as  he  may  find  it 
everywhere  else  in  the  world,  in  his  study  of  the 
fabric  of  the  foibles  and  passions  of  his  kind. 

The  old  narratives  mention  a  camp  of  Miami 
Indians,  visible  near  the  source  of  the  river,  at  the 
time  of  LaSalle's  embarkation.  We  may  imagine 
that  curious  beady  eyes  peered  from  the  clustered 
wigwams  in  the  distance  upon  the  newcomers,  the 
wondering  aborigines  little  knowing  that  a  serpent 
had  entered  their  Eden,  and  thenceforth  their  race 
was  to  look  only  upon  a  setting  sun. 

The  river  flowed  through  a  mystic  land.  "With 
magnificent  sweeps  and  bends  it  wound  out  on  open 
fertile  areas  and  into  dense  virgin  forests,  doubUng 
to  and  fro  in  its  course,  widening  into  broad  lakes, 
and  moving  on  to  vast  labyrinths  of  dank  grass, 
rushes,  lily  pads,  trembling  bogs  and  impenetrable 
brush  tangles.  The  main  channel  often  lost  itself 
in  the  side  currents  and  in  mazes  of  rank  vegetation. 
Here  and  there  were  little  still  tarns  and  open  pools 
that  reflected  the  wandering  clouds  by  day  and  the 
changing  moons  at  night. 

There  were  great  stretches  of  marshy  wastes  and 
flooded  lowlands,  where  millions  upon  millions  of 
water  fowl  found  welcome  retreats  and  never  fail- 
ing food.  During  the  migrating  seasons  in  the 
spring  and  fall,  vast  flocks  of  ducks  were  patterned 
against  the  clouds.  They  swooped  down  in  endless 
hordes.  Turbulent  calls  and  loud  trumpetings 
heralded  the  coming  of  serried  legions   of  geese, 

[17] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

swans  and  brant,  as  they  broke  their  ranks,  settled 
on  to  the  hospitable  waters  and  floated  in  gentle  con- 
tentment. 

The  wild  rice  fields  were  inexhaustable  granaries, 
and  intrusion  into  them  was  followed  by  hurried 
beating  of  hidden  wings.  A  disturbance  of  a  few 
birds  would  start  a  slowly  increasing  alarm;  soon 
the  sky  would  be  darkened  by  the  countless 
flocks  swarming  out  of  miles  of  grasses,  and  the  air 
would  be  filled  with  the  roar  of  fleeing  pinions. 
Gradually  they  would  return  to  enjoy  their  wonted 
tranquility. 

The  feathered  myriads  came  and  went  with  the 
transient  seasons,  but  great  numbers  remained 
and  nested  on  the  bogs  among  the  rushes,  and  on 
the  little  oak  shaded  islands  in  the  swamps. 

Coots,  grebes,  rails,  and  bitterns  haunted  the 
pools  and  runways  among  the  thick  sedges.  Sud- 
den awkward  flights  out  of  concealed  coverts  often 
startled  the  quiet  wayfarer  on  the  currents  and 
ponds  of  the  swamps.  The  solitary  loon's  weird 
calls  echoed  from  distant  open  waters. 

Swarms  of  blackbirds  rose  out  of  the  reeds  and 
rice,  and,  after  vicarious  circlings,  disappeared  into 
other  grassy  retreats,  enlivening  the  solitudes  with 
their  busy  clamor. 

In  the  summer  and  autumn  the  flowers  of  the  wet 
places  bloomed  in  luxuriant  profusion.  Limitless 
acres  of  pond  lilies  opened  their  chaste  petals  in 
the  slumberous  airs.  Harmonies  of  brilliant  color 
bedecked  the  russet  robes  of  autumn,  and  far  over 

[18] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

the  broad  fenlands  yellow  and  vermillion  banners 
waved  in  the  soft  winds  of  early  fall. 

In  these  wild  marshlands  was  the  kingdom  of  the 
muskrat.  The  little  villages  and  isolated  domiciles 
— built  of  roots  and  rushes,  and  plastered  with  mud 
— protruded  above  the  surface  over  the  wide 
expanses,  and  were  concealed  in  cleared  spaces  in 
the  high,  thick  grasses.  The  pelts  of  these  prolific 
and  industrious  little  animals  were  speedily  con- 
verted into  wealth  in  after  years. 

The  otter  and  the  mink  hunted  their  prey  on  the 
marshes  and  in  the  dank  labyrinths  of  brush  and 
wood  debris  along  the  main  stream.  Beavers 
thrived  on  the  tributary  waters,  where  these  patient 
and  skilful  engineers  built  their  dams  and  estab- 
lished their  towns  with  the  sagacity  and  foresight 
of  their  kind. 

On  still  sunshiny  days  the  tribes  of  the  turtles 
emerged  from  their  miry  retreats  and  basked  in 
phlegmatic  immobility  on  the  sodden  logs  and 
decayed  fallen  timber  that  littered  the  course  of  the 
current  through  the  deep  woodlands.  The  muddy 
fraternity  would  often  seem  to  cover  every  low  pro- 
truding object  that  could  sustain  them.  At  the 
passing  of  a  boat  the  gray  masses  would  awake  and 
tumble  with  loud  splashings  into  the  depths. 

The  fish  common  to  our  western  streams  and  lakes 
were  prolific  in  the  river.  Aged  men  sit  in  hickory 
rocking  chairs  and  enliven  the  mythology  of  their 
winter  firesides  with  tales  of  mighty  catfish,  bass, 

[19] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

pike  and  pickerel  that  once  swam  in  the  clear  waters 
and  fell  victims  to  their  lures. 

The  finny  world  has  not  only  supplied  man  with 
invaluable  food,  but  has  been  a  beneficent  stimulant 
to  his  imaginative  faculties. 

The  choruses  of  the  bull  frogs  in  the  marshes  and 
bayous  at  night  are  among  the  joys  unforgetable  to 
those  who  have  listened  to  these  concerts  out  on  the 
moonlit  stretches  among  the  lily  pads  and  bending 
rushes.  The  corpulent  gossips  in  the  hidden  places 
sent  forth  medleys  of  resonant  sound  that  resem- 
bled deep  tones  of  bass  viols.  They  mingled  with  the 
rippling  lighter  notes  of  the  smaller  frog  folk,  and 
all  blended  into  lyrics  of  nocturnal  harmonies  that 
lulled  the  senses  and  attuned  the  heart  strings  to 
the  Voices  of  the  Little  Things. 

Colonies  of  blue  herons  nested  among  the  syca- 
mores and  elms  in  the  overflowed  bottom  lands  bor- 
dering on  the  river.  A  well  known  ornithologist  has 
justly  called  this  stately  bird  "the  symbol  of  the 
wild."  Visits  to  the  populous  heronries  were  events 
long  to  be  remembered  by  lovers  of  bird  life.  Some- 
times eight  or  ten  of  the  rudely  constructed  nests 
would  occupy  one  tree,  and  within  an  area  of  per- 
haps twenty  acres,  hundreds  of  gawky  offspring 
would  come  forth  in  April  to  be  fed  and  guarded 
by  the  powerful  bills  of  the  older  birds. 

These  nesting  retreats  were  often  accessible  from 
the  river,  and  a  canoe  floating  into  the  placid  and 
secluded  precincts  roused  instant  protest  from  the 
ghostly  forms  perched  about  on  the  limbs.     The 

[20] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

great  birds  would  circle  out  over  the  trees  with 
hoarse  cries,  but  if  the  intruder  became  motionless 
they  would  soon  return  and  resume  their  family 
cares. 

The  perfect  reflections  in  the  clear  still  waters, 
with  the  inverted  tracery  of  the  tree  tops  against 
the  skies  below,  decorated  with  the  statuesque  fig- 
ures of  the  herons,  pictured  dreamlands  that 
seemed  of  another  world,  and  tempted  errant  fancy 
into  remote  paths. 

The  passenger  pigeons  came  in  multitudes  to  the 
river  country  in  the  fall  and  settled  into  the  woods, 
where  the  ripe  acorns  afforded  abundant  food.  The 
old  inhabitants  tell  wondrous  tales  of  their  migra- 
tions, when  the  innumerable  flocks  obscured  the 
clouds  and  the  sound  of  the  passing  of  the  gray 
hosts  was  that  of  a  moaning  wind.  The  gregarious- 
ness  of  these  birds  was  their  ruin.  They  congre- 
gated on  the  dead  trees  in  such  numbers  as  to  often 
break  the  smaller  limbs.  Owls,  hawks,  and  four- 
footed  night  marauders  feasted  voraciously  upon 
them.  They  were  easy  victims  for  the  nets  and  guns 
of  the  pot  hunters  and  the  blind  destructiveness  of 
man  wherever  nature  has  been  prodigal  of  her  gifts. 
For  years  these  beautiful  creatures  have  been 
extinct,  but  the  lesson  of  their  going  is  only  now 
beginning  to  be  heeded. 

The  black  companies  of  the  crows  kept  watch  and 
ward  over  the  forests  and  winding  waters.  Their 
noisy  parliaments  were  in  constant  session,  and  few 
vistas  through  the  woods,  or  out  over  the  open  land- 

[21] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

scapes,  were  without  the  accents  of  their  moving 
forms  against  the  sky. 

Among  the  many  feathered  species  there  are  none 
that  appear  to  take  themselves  more  seriously.  They 
are  ubiquitous  and  most  curious  as  to  everything 
that  exists  or  happens  within  the  spheres  of  their 
activities,  and  are  so  much  a  part  of  our  great  out 
of  doors  that  we  would  miss  them  sadly  if  they 
were  gone. 

Wild  turkeys  and  partridges  were  plentiful  in 
the  woods  and  underbrush.  Eagles  soared  in  majes- 
tic flight  over  the  country  and  dropped  to  the  waters 
and  into  the  forests  upon  their  furtive  prey. 

In  the  spring  the  woodlands  were  filled  with  melo- 
dious choirs  of  the  smaller  birds.  Their  enemies 
were  few  and  they  thrived  in  their  happy  homes. 

Deer  were  once  abundant.  Elk  horns  have  been 
found,  and  there  are  disputed  records  of  straggling 
herds  of  buffalo.  Panther  tracks  were  sometimes 
seen,  and  the  black  bear — that  interesting  vagabond 
of  the  woods — was  a  faithful  visitor  to  the  wild  bee 
trees.  Wolves  roved  through  the  timber.  Wild 
cats,  foxes,  woodchucks,  raccoons,  and  hundreds  of 
smaller  animals,  dwelt  in  the  great  forests. 

In  this  happy  land  lived  the  Miami  and  Potto- 
wattomie  Indians.  Their  little  villages  of  bark 
wigwams  and  tepees  of  dried  skins  were  scatttered 
along  the  small  streams,  the  borders  of  the  river, 
and  on  the  many  islands  that  divided  its  course. 

They  sat  in  spiritual  darkness  on  the  verdant 
banks  until  the  white  man  came  to  change  their  gods 

[22] 


THE  VANISHING  EWEE 

and  superstitions,  but  the  region  teemed  with  fish, 
game  and  wild  fruits,  and,  with  their  limited  wants, 
they  enjoyed  the  average  contentment  of  human- 
kind. Whether  or  not  their  moral  well  being  im- 
proved or  deteriorated  under  the  teachings  and 
influence  of  the  Franciscan  and  Jesuit  fathers  and 
the  protestant  missionaries,  is  a  question  for  the 
casuists,  but  the  ways  of  the  white  man  withered 
and  swept  them  away.  Unable  to  hold  what  they 
could  not  defend,  they  were  despoiled  of  their  her- 
itage and  exiled  to  other  climes. 

Their  little  cemeteries  are  still  found,  where  the 
buried  skeletons  grimly  await  the  Great  Solution, 
amid  the  curious  decayed  trappings  of  a  past  age 
that  were  interred  for  the  use  of  the  dead  in  mystical 
happy  hunting  grounds.  Their  problem,  like  ours, 
remains  as  profound  as  their  sleep.  Occasionally 
curious  delvers  into  Indian  history  have  unearthed 
grisly  skulls,  covered  with  mould,  and  fragments  of 
bones  in  these  silent  places. 

Many  thousands  of  stone  weapons,  flint  arrow- 
heads, implements  of  the  red  men's  simple  agri- 
culture, and  utensils  of  their  rude  housekeeping, 
have  been  found  in  the  soil  of  the  land  where  once 
their  lodges  tapered  into  the  green  foliage. 

Traces  remain  of  the  trails  that  connected  the 
villages  and  threaded  the  country  in  every  direction. 

The  relations  between  the  first  settlers  and  the 
Indians  seem  to  have  been  harmonious,  but  friction 
of  interests  developed  with  the  continued  influx  of 
the  whites,  until  the  primitive  law  of  **  might  makes 

[23] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

right"  was  applied  to  the  coveted  lands.  Sculp- 
tured monuments  have  now  been  erected  to  the  red 
chieftains  by  the  descendants  of  those  who  robbed 
them — empty  and  belated  recognition  of  their 
equities. 

Many  hunters  and  trappers  came  into  the  wild 
country,  lured  by  the  abundant  game  and  fur.  The 
beavers  and  muskrats  provided  the  greater  part  of 
the  spoil  of  the  trappers. 

Gradually  the  pioneer  farmers  began  clearing 
tracts  in  the  forests,  where  they  found  a  soil  of 
exuberant  fertility. 

With  improved  methods  and  firearms  the  annihil- 
ation of  the  wild  life  commenced.  Many  hundreds 
of  tons  of  scattered  leaden  shot  lie  buried  in  un- 
known miry  depths,  that  streamed  into  the  skies 
at  the  passing  flocks.  The  modem  breech  loader 
worked  devastating  havoc.  The  water  fowl 
dwindled  rapidly  in  numbers  with  the  onward  years, 
for  the  fame  of  the  region  as  a  sportsman's  paradise 
was  nation  wide. 

The  inroads  of  the  trappers  on  the  fur  bearing 
animals  practically  exterminated  all  but  the  prolific 
and  obstinate  muskrat,  destined  to  be  one  of  the 
last  survivors. 

In  later  years  the  trappers  lived  in  little  shacks, 
*'wickyups"  and  log  cabins  on  the  bayous,  near  the 
edges  of  the  marshes,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  tribu- 
tary streams.  Many  of  them  were  strange  odd 
characters.  The  almost  continual  solitude  of  their 
lives  developed  their  baser  instincts,  without  teach- 

[24] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

ing  the  arts  of  their  concealment  possessed  by  those 
who  have  social  and  educational  advantages. 

With  the  increasing  markets  for  wild  game  they 
became  pot  hunters  and  sold  great  quantities  of 
ducks  and  other  slaughtered  birds. 

The  rude  habitations  were  often  enlarged  or 
rebuilt  to  accommodate  visiting  duck  shooters  and 
fishermen,  for  whom  they  acted  as  guides  and  hosts. 
They  began  to  mingle  in  the  life  of  the  little  towns, 
and  occasional  isolated  cross  road  stores,  that  came 
into  being  at  long  distances  apart,  where  they  went 
to  dispose  of  their  pelts  and  game. 

Queerly  clad,  long  haired  and  much  bewhiskered, 
they  were  picturesque  figures,  standing  in  their 
sharp  pointed  canoes,  which  they  propelled  with  long 
handled  paddles  that  served  as  push  poles  in  shal- 
low water.  Dogs  that  were  trained  retrievers  and 
devoted  companions,  often  occupied  the  bows  of  the 
little  boats.  In  the  middle  of  the  craft  were  piled 
wooden  decoys,  dead  birds,  muskrats  or  steel  traps, 
when  they  journeyed  to  and  from  the  marshes,  where 
they  appeared  in  all  weathers  and  seasons  except 
midsummer.  During  the  hot  months  they  usually 
loafed  in  somnolent  idleness  at  the  stores,  puttered 
about  their  shacks,  or  did  odd  jobs  on  the  farms. 

There  are  tales  of  lawlessness  in  the  country  char- 
acteristic of  the  raw  edges  of  civilization  in  a 
sparsely  settled  region.  Horse  stealing  appears  to 
have  been  a  favorite  industry  of  evil  doers,  and  tim- 
ber thieves  were  numerous.  In  the  absence  of  con- 
venient jails  and  courts  the  law  of  the  wild  was  ad- 

[25] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

ministered  without  mercy  to  these  and  other  miscre- 
ants when  they  were  caught. 

Moonshiners,  whose  interests  did  not  conflict  with 
local  public  sentiment,  were  seldom  interfered  with. 
The  infrequent  investigations  of  emissaries  of  the 
government  met  with  little  sympathy  except  when 
they  were  looking  for  counterfeiters. 

The  Kankakee  of  old  has  gone,  for  the  lands  over 
which  it  spread  became  valuable.  A  mighty  ditch 
has  been  excavated,  extending  almost  its  entire 
course,  to  deepen  and  straighten  its  channel,  and  to 
drain  away  its  marshes.  The  altered  hne  of  the 
stream  left  many  of  the  rude  homes  of  the  old 
trappers  far  inland.  Their  occupations  have  ceased 
and  they  sit  in  melancholy  silence  and  brood  upon 
the  past.  For  them  the  book  is  closed.  They  falter 
at  the  threshold  of  a  new  era  in  which  nature  has 
not  fitted  them  to  live. 

Ugly  steam  dredges,  with  ponderous  iron  jaws, 
came  upon  the  river.  Hoary  patriarchs  of  the  for- 
est were  felled.  Ancient  roots  and  green  banks, 
mantled  with  vines,  were  ruthlessly  blasted  away. 
The  dredge  scoops  delved  into  mossy  retreats. 
Secret  dens  and  runways  were  opened  to  the  glaring 
light  and  there  were  many  rustlings  of  furtive  feet 
and  wings  through  the  invaded  grasses. 

The  limpid  waters  reflected  Hammonds  sinister 
form.  The  despoiler  tore  relentlessly  through 
ferny  aisles  in  the  green  embowered  woods  and 
across  the  swamps  and  flowery  fens.  The  glittering 
lakes,  the  meandering  loops  and  bends  disappeared, 

[26] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

and  the  fecund  marshlands  yielded  their  life  cur- 
rents. The  thousand  night  voices  on  their  moon 
flooded  stretches  were  stilled.  The  wild  life  fled. 
Wondering  flocks  in  the  skies  looked  down  on  the 
strange  scene,  changed  their  courses  and  winged  on. 

The  passing  of  the  river  leaves  its  memories  of 
musical  ripplings  over  pebbly  shoals,  murmurous 
runes  among  the  fallen  timber,  tremulous  moon 
paths  over  darkened  waters,  the  twinkling  of  wispy 
hosts  of  fireflies  in  dreamy  dusks,  blended  perfumes 
of  still  forests,  heron  haunted  bayous,  enchanting 
islands,  with  their  profusion  of  wild  grapes  and 
plums,  and  the  glories  of  afterglows  beyond  the 
vast  marshes. 

The  currents  that  once  widened  in  silvery  mag- 
nificence to  their  natural  barriers,  and  wandered 
peacefully  among  the  mysteries  of  the  woods,  now 
flow  madly  on  through  a  man-wrought  channel.  In 
sorrow  the  gloomy  waters  flee  with  writhing  swirls 
from  the  land  where  once  they  crept  out  over 
the  low  areas  and  rested  on  their  ways  to  the  sea. 
In  the  moaning  of  the  homeless  tide  we  may  hear  the 
requiem  of  the  river. 

Fields  of  corn  and  wheat  stretch  over  the  re- 
claimed acres,  for  the  utilitarian  has  triumphed 
over  beauty  and  nature's  providence  for  her  wild 
creatures.  The  destruction  of  one  of  the  most 
valuable  bird  refuges  on  the  continent  has  almost 
been  completed,  for  the  sake  of  immediate  wealth. 
The  realization  of  this  great  economic  wrong  must 
be  left  to  future  generations.    The  ugly  dredges  are 

[27] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

finishing  the  desecration  on  the  lower  reaches  of 
the  stream. 

The  Vanishing  River  moves  on  through  a  twilight 
of  ignorance  and  error,  for  the  sacrifice  of  our  bird 
life  and  our  regions  of  natural  beauty  is  the  sacrifice 
of  precious  material  and  spiritual  gifts. 

In  the  darkness  of  still  nights  pale  phantom  cur- 
rents may  creep  into  the  denuded  winding  channels, 
guided  by  the  unseen  Power  that  directs  the  waters, 
and  fade  into  the  dim  mists  before  the  dawn. 

Under  the  brooding  care  of  the  Great  Spirit  for 
the  departed  children,  ghostly  war  plumes  may 
flutter  softly  among  the  leaves  and  tassels  of  the 
corn  that  wave  over  the  Red  Man's  lost  domain, 
when  the  autumn  winds  whisper  in  the  star-lit  fields, 
for  the  land  is  peopled  with  shadows,  and  has  passed 
into  the  realm  of  legend,  romance  and  fancy. 


[28] 


n 

THE  SILVEE  AEEOW 


II 

THE  SILVER  ARROW 

THE  story  of  the  arrow  was  slowly  unravelled 
from  the  tangled  thread  of  interrupted  nar- 
rative related  to  us  by  old  Waukena.  She 
sat  in  her  little  log  hut  among  the  tall  poplars  and 
birches,  beyond  the  farther  end  of  Whippoorwill 
Bayou,  and  talked  of  the  arrow  during  our  visits, 
but  never  in  a  way  that  enabled  us  to  connect  the 
scattered  fragments  of  the  tale  into  proper  sequence 
until  we  had  heard  various  parts  of  it  many  times. 

She  was  a  remnant  of  the  Pottowattomies.  She 
did  not  know  when  she  was  bom,  but,  from  her 
knowledge  of  events  that  happened  in  her  life-time, 
the  approximate  dates  of  which  we  knew,  she  must 
have  been  over  ninety. 

Her  solitary  life  and  habitual  silence  had  devel- 
oped a  taciturnity  that  steals  upon  those  who  dwell 
in  the  stillness  of  the  forest.  There  was  a  far  away 
look  in  the  old  eyes,  and  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  her 
low  voice,  as  she  talked  sadly  in  her  broken  English, 
of  the  days  that  were  gone. 

She  cherished  the  traditions  of  her  people,  and 
their  sorrows  lingered  in  her  heart.  Like  shriveled 
leaves  clinging  to  withered  boughs,  her  memories 

[31] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

seemed  to  rustle  faintly  when  a  new  breath  of  inter- 
est touched  them,  and  from  among  these  rustlings 
we  culled  the  arrow's  story. 

The  little  cabin  was  very  old.  Its  furnishings 
were  in  keeping  with  its  occupant  and  sufficient  for 
her  simple  needs.  There  was  a  rough  stone  fire- 
place at  one  end  of  the  single  room.  A  flat  pro- 
jecting boulder  on  one  side  of  its  interior  provided 
a  shelf  for  the  few  cooking  utensils.  They  were 
hung  on  a  rickety  iron  swinging  arm  over  the  wood 
fire  when  in  use.  A  much  worn  turkey  wing,  with 
charred  edges,  lay  near  the  hearth,  with  which  the 
scattered  ashes  were  dusted  back  into  the  fire- 
place. A  bedstead,  constructed  of  birch  saplings, 
occupied  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Several  coon 
and  fox  skins,  neatly  sewed  together,  and  a  couple 
of  gray  blankets,  laid  over  some  rush  mats,  com- 
pleted the  sleeping  arrangements.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  bunches  of  bright  hued  feathers,  stuck 
about  in  various  chinks,  the  rough  walls  were  bare 
of  ornament. 

The  other  furniture  consisted  of  a  couple  of  low 
stools,  a  heavy  rocking  chair  and  a  small  pine  table. 
A  kerosene  lantern  and  some  candles  illumined  the 
squalid  interior  at  night. 

In  an  open  space  near  the  cabin  was  a  small  patch 
of  cultivated  ground  that  produced  a  few  vegetables. 
Sunflowers  and  hollyhocks  grew  along  its  edge  and 
gave  a  touch  of  color  to  the  surroundings. 

The  old  settlers  and  their  families,  who  lived  in 
the  river  country,  provided  Waukena  with  most  of 

[32] 


WauKek 


Waukena 


THE  SILVER  ARROW 

her  food  supplies  and  the  few  other  comforts  that 
were  necessary  to  her  lonely  existence. 

Many  times  I  studied  the  rugged  old  face  in  the 
fire  light.  Among  the  melancholy  lines  there 
lurked  a  certain  grimness  and  lofty  reserve.  There 
was  no  humility  in  the  modelling  of  the  determined 
mouth  and  chin.  The  features  were  those  of  a 
mother  of  warriors.  The  blood  of  heroes,  unknown 
and  forgotten,  was  in  her  veins,  and  the  savage 
fatalism  of  centuries  slumbered  in  the  placid  dark 
eyes.  It  was  the  calmed  face  of  one  who  had  defied 
vicissitude,  and  who,  with  head  unbowed,  would 
meet  finality. 

My  friend  the  historian  had  known  her  many 
years,  and  had  made  copious  notes  of  her  childhood 
recollections  of  the  enforced  departure  of  her  tribe 
from  the  river  country.  She  and  several  others  had 
taken  refuge  in  a  swamp  until  the  soldiers  had  gone. 
They  then  made  their  way  north  and  dwelt  for  a 
few  years  near  the  St.  Joseph,  where  a  favored  por- 
tion of  the  tribe  was  allowed  to  retain  land,  but 
finally  returned  to  their  old  haunts. 

When  she  was  quite  young  her  mother  gave  her 
the  headless  arrow,  which  she  took  from  one  of  the 
recesses  in  the  log  wall  and  showed  to  us.  It  was 
a  slender  shaft  of  hickory,  perfectly  straight,  and 
fragments  of  the  dyed  feathers  that  once  ornamented 
it  still  adhered  to  its  delicately  notched  base.  At 
the  other  end  were  frayed  remnants  of  animal  fiber 
that  had  once  held  the  point  in  place.  There  were 
dark  stains  along  the  shaft  that  had  survived  the 

[33] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

years.  The  old  squaw  held  it  tenderly  in  her  hands 
as  she  talked  of  it,  and  always  replaced  it  carefully 
in  the  narrow  niche  when  the  subject  was  changed. 

Nearly  a  hundred  years  ago  the  shaft  was  fash- 
ioned by  an  old  arrowmaker  up  the  river  for  Little 
Turtle,  a  young  hunter,  who  hoped  to  kill  a  par- 
ticular bald  eagle  with  it.  For  a  long  time  the  bird 
had  soared  with  unconquered  wings  over  the  river 
country,  and  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life.  It  had 
successfully  eluded  him  for  nearly  a  year,  but  finally 
fell  when  the  twang  of  Little  Turtle's  bow  sent  the 
new  weapon  into  his  breast,  as  he  sat  unsuspectingly 
on  a  limb  of  a  dead  tree  that  bent  over  the  river. 

The  victor  proudly  bore  his  trophy  to  his  bark 
canoe  and  paddled  down  the  stream  to  Whippoorwill 
Bayou.  He  pulled  the  little  craft  up  into  the  under- 
brush at  twilight,  and  sat  quietly  on  the  bank  until 
the  full  moon  came  out  from  among  the  trees. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  bayou  were  heavy  masses 
of  wild  grape  vines  that  had  climbed  over  some  dead 
trees  and  undergrowth.  Through  a  strange  freak 
of  nature  the  convoluted  piles  had  resolved  them- 
selves into  grotesque  shapes  that,  in  the  magic  sheen 
of  the  moonlight,  suggested  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  a  gigantic  human  figure,  with  long  locks  and  over- 
hanging brows,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
The  lusty  growth  had  crept  over  the  lower  trees  in 
such  a  way  that  the  distribution  of  the  shadows  com- 
pleted the  illusion.  An  unkempt  old  man  seemed  to 
stand  wearily,  with  masses  of  the  tangled  verdure 
heaped  over  his  extended  hands.    It  was  only  when 

[34] 


THE  SILVER  ARROW 

the  moon  was  near  the  horizon  that  the  lights  and 
shadows  produced  the  strange  apparition.  The 
weird  figure,  sculptured  by  the  sorcery  of  the  pale 
beams,  was  called  ''The  Father  of  the  Vines"  by 
the  red  men,  and  he  was  believed  to  have  an  occult 
influence  over  the  living  things  that  dwelt  in  the 
forests  along  the  river. 

Under  one  of  the  burdened  hands  was  a  dark 
grotto  that  led  back  into  the  mysteries  of  the  woods, 
and  from  it  came  the  low  cry  of  a  whippoorwill. 
Little  Turtle  instantly  rose,  dragged  out  the  con- 
cealed canoe,  paddled  silently  over  the  moonlit 
water,  and  entered  the  grotto.  A  shadowy  figure 
had  glided  out  to  met  him,  for  the  whippoorwill  call 
was  Nebowie's  signal  to  her  lover. 

For  months  the  grotto  had  been  their  trysting 
place.  Rose  winged  hours  were  spent  there,  and  the 
great  hands  seemed  to  be  held  in  benediction,  as  the 
world  old  story  was  told  within  the  hidden  recesses. 
Nebowie  's  father.  Moose  Jaw,  a  scarred  old  war- 
rior and  hunter,  had  told  White  Wolf  that  his  dark- 
eyed  willowy  daughter  should  go  to  his  wigwam 
when  the  wild  geese  again  crossed  the  sky,  and  White 
Wolf  was  anxiously  counting  the  days  that  lay  be- 
tween him  and  the  fruition  of  his  hopes. 

He  was  a  tall,  low  browed,  villainous  looking  sav- 
age. He  had  once  saved  Moose  Jaw  from  an  un- 
timely death.  The  old  Indian  was  crossing  a  frozen 
marsh  one  winter  morning,  with  a  deer  on  his  shoul- 
ders, and  broke  through  the  ice.  White  Wolf  hap- 
pened to  see  him  and  effected  his  rescue.   He  had 

[35] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

long  gazed  from  afar  on  the  light  in  Moose  Jaw's 
wagwam,  but  Nebowie's  eyes  were  downcast  when  he 
came.  He  lived  down  the  river,  and  the  people  of 
his  village  seldom  came  up  as  far  as  Whippoorwill 
Bayou. 

His  persistent  visits,  encouraged  by  the  grateful 
old  Indian,  and  frowned  upon  by  the  flower  he 
sought,  gradually  became  less  frequent,  and  finally 
ceased,  when  he  learned  the  secret  of  Nebowie  and 
Little  Turtle,  after  stealthily  haunting  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  bayou  for  several  weeks. 

An  evil  light  came  into  White  Wolf's  sinister 
eyes,  and  the  fires  of  blood  lust  kindled  in  his  breast. 
He  went  on  the  path  of  vengeance.  The  savage  and 
the  esthete  are  alike  when  the  coveted  male  or 
female  of  their  kind  is  taken  by  another.  He  was 
too  crafty  to  wage  open  warfare  and  resolved  to 
eliminate  his  rival  in  some  way  that  would  not 
arouse  suspicion  and  resentment  when  he  again 
sought  Nebowie's  smiles. 

Old  Moose  Jaw  smoked  many  pipes,  and  meditated 
philosophically  over  his  daughter's  obstinate  dis- 
regard of  the  compact  with  White  Wolf.  Nebowie 's 
mother  had  been  dead  several  years,  and  the  old 
Indian  was  easily  reconciled  to  what  appeared  to  be 
his  daughter's  resolution  to  remain  with  him,  for 
the  little  bark  wigwam  would  be  lonely  without  her. 
She  went  cheerfully  about  her  various  tasks,  and 
never  mentioned  Little  Turtle,  until  one  day  they 
came  together  and  told  him  their  story.  As  nothing 
had  been  seen  of  White  Wolf  for  a  long  time,  the 

[361 


THE  SILVER  ARROW 

old  man  assumed  that  his  ardor  had  cooled,  and 
finally  consented  to  the  building  of  the  new  wigwam 
on  the  bayou  bank  near  the  Father  of  the  Vines, 
where  Nebowie  would  still  be  near  him.  He  had 
no  objections  to  Little  Turtle  and  hoped  that  the 
obligation  to  White  Wolf  could  be  discharged  in 
some  other  way. 

He  rejoiced  when  the  small  black  eyes  of  a  pa- 
poose blinked  at  him  when  he  visited  the  new  wig- 
wam one  afternoon  during  the  following  summer.  He 
spent  much  time  with  the  little  wild  thing  on  his  knee 
when  she  was  old  enough  to  be  handled  by  any- 
body but  her  mother.  He  would  sit  for  hours,  gently 
swinging  the  birch  bark  cradle  that  hung  from  a 
low  bough  near  the  bank,  for  he  was  no  longer  able 
to  hunt  or  fish,  and  took  no  part  in  the  activities  of 
the  men  of  the  village.  Little  Turtle's  prowess 
amply  supplied  both  wigwams  with  food  and 
raiment,  and  there  was  no  need  for  further  exertion. 

White  Wolf  had  apparently  recovered  from  his 
infatuation.  He  occasionally  came  up  the  river,  but 
his  connection  with  the  affairs  of  the  community, 
whose  little  habitations  were  widely  scattered 
through  the  woods  beyond  the  bayou,  was  consid- 
ered a  thing  of  the  past. 

Little  Turtle  was  highly  esteemed  by  the  men  of 
his  village,  and  two  years  after  his  marriage  he 
was  made  its  chief. 

The  following  spring  delegations  from  the  various 
villages  along  the  river  departed  for  a  general  pow- 
wow of  the  tribe,  near  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Joseph, 

[37] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

in  the  country  of  the  dunes,  about  eighty  miles 
away.  Little  Turtle  and  White  Wolf  went  with 
them.  Time  had  nurtured  the  demon  in  the  heart  of 
the  baffled  suitor,  but  there  were  no  indications  of 
enmity  during  the  trip.  The  party  broke  up  on  its 
way  home  and  took  different  trails.  Little  Turtle 
never  returned. 

Nebowie  pined  in  anguish  for  the  home  coming, 
and  White  Wolf  waited  for  her  sorrow  to  pass.  She 
spent  months  of  misery,  and  finally  carried  her 
aching  heart  to  the  '* Black  Robe,"  who  ministered 
to  the  spiritual  needs  of  her  people,  after  the  for- 
mula of  his  sect,  in  the  little  mission  house  up  the 
river.  He  was  a  kindly  counselor  and  listened  with 
sympathy  to  her  story. 

He  belonged  to  that  hardy  and  zealous  band  of 
ecclesiastics  who  had  come  into  the  land  of  another 
race  to  build  new  altars,  and  to  teach  what  they  be- 
lieved to  be  the  ways  to  redemption.  He  told  Nebowie 
to  take  her  sorrow  to  the  white  man's  deity  and  gave 
her  a  small  silver  crucifix  as  a  token  that  would 
bring  divine  consolation  and  peace.  Forms  of  pen- 
ance and  supplication  were  prescribed,  and  she  was 
sent  away  with  the  blessing  of  the  devout  priest. 

Nebowie  carried  her  cross  and,  during  the  still 
hours  in  the  little  wigwam,  she  held  it  to  her 
anguished  breast.  The  months  brought  no  surcease. 
In  the  quiet  ministry  of  the  woods  there  crept  into 
her  heart  a  belief  that  the  magic  of  the  Black  Robe 's 
God  was  futile. 

The  inevitable  atavism  came  and  she  departed 

[38] 


THE  SILVER  AEEOW 

into  the  silences.  For  a  long  time  her  whereahouts 
were  unknown.  During  the  bitter  months  her  in- 
tuitive mind  worked  out  the  problem.  Something 
that  she  found  in  the  wilderness  had  solved  the  mys- 
tery of  her  loved  one's  disappearance,  and,  when 
she  returned,  she  hammered  her  silver  crucifix  into 
an  arrow  head,  bound  it  with  deer  sinew  to  the  hick- 
ory shaft  of  the  arrow  with  which  Little  Turtle  had 
killed  the  bald  eagle,  and  meditated  upon  the  hour 
of  her  revenge.  White  Wolf  was  doomed,  and  his 
executioner  patiently  bided  the  time  for  action. 

He  renewed  his  visits  and  condoled  with  the  sad 
old  man,  but  made  no  progress  with  Nebowie, 
although  she  sometimes  seemed  to  encourage  his 
advances. 

One  evening  in  the  early  fall  he  returned  from  a 
hunting  trip  over  the  marshes.  He  followed  one  of 
the  small  trails  that  skirted  the  woods  near  his 
village.  A  shadowy  form  moved  silently  among  the 
trees.  There  was  a  low  whir,  and  something  sped 
through  the  dusk. 

When  they  found  White  Wolf  in  the  morning  the 
hair  on  one  side  of  his  head  was  matted  with  blood, 
and  a  small  hole  led  into  his  stilled  brain,  but  there 
was  no  clue  to  the  motive  or  to  the  author  of  the 
tragedy.  He  was  duly  mourned  and  buried  after 
the  manner  of  his  fathers.  His  taking  off  was  num- 
bered among  the  enigmas  of  the  past,  and  was  soon 
forgotten. 

Nebowie  continued  her  home  life  with  her  father 
and  her  little  one,  but  tranquility  was  in  her  face. 

[39] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

She  felt  within  her  the  glow  that  retribution  brings 
to  the  savage  heart — whether  it  be  red  or  white. 
A  recompense  had  come  to  her  tortured  soul  that 
softened  the  after  years.  The  silver  of  the  arrow 
point  had  achieved  a  mission  that  had  failed  when 
it  bore  the  form  of  a  cross. 

During  our  exploration  of  the  sites  of  the  old 
Indian  villages  in  the  river  country,  we  discovered 
a  large  pasture  that  had  never  been  ploughed. 
Traces  of  two  well  worn  trails  led  through  it,  and, 
on  a  little  knoll  near  the  center  of  the  field,  we  found 
what  appeared  to  be  burial  mounds. 

We  were  reluctant  to  desecrate  the  hallowed  spot, 
but  finally  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  open  one  of 
them.  We  unearthed  two  skeletons.  They  were 
both  in  a  sitting  position.  I  picked  up  one  of  the 
skulls  and  curiously  examined  it.  Something  rattled 
within  the  uncanny  relic  and  dropped  to  the  grass. 
The  small  object  proved  to  be  a  silver  arrowhead, 
and  Waukena's  story  came  home  to  us  with  startling 
reality.  We  replaced  the  bones  and  reshaped  the 
mound  as  best  we  could,  but  carried  with  us  the 
mouldy  skull  and  its  carefully  wrought  messenger 
of  death. 

Nearly  all  of  the  Indians  in  the  river  country  were 
buried  in  a  sitting  position.  The  grim  skeletons  of 
the  vanished  race  belong  to  the  world  that  is  under 
ground.  In  countless  huddled  hordes,  they  sit  in 
the  gloom  of  the  fragrant  earth,  with  hands  out- 

[40] 


THE  SILVER  ARROW 

stretched,  as  if  in  mute  appeal,  and  wait  througli 
the  years  for  whatever  gods  may  come. 

In  the  darkness  that  may  be  eternal,  the  disputa- 
tions of  theologians  do  not  disturb  the  gathering 
mould.  The  multitudinous  forms  of  reward  and 
punishment,  that  play  in  empty  pageantry  upon  the 
hopes  and  fears  of  those  who  walk  the  green  earth, 
touch  not  the  myriads  in  its  bosom. 

The  self  appointed,  who  bear  the  lights  of  man 
born  dogma,  and  the  blessings  and  curses  of  imag- 
inary deities,  into  the  paths  of  the  unknowable, 
grope  as  blindly  among  pagan  bones  as  through 
cathedral  aisles. 

That  evening  we  rowed  up  the  river  to  carry  our 
story  to  Waukena.  She  held  the  mouldy  skull  in 
her  lap  for  a  long  time  and  regarded  it  with  deep 
interest.  Sealed  fountains  within  her  aged  heart 
seemed  to  well  anew,  for  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes  when  she  raised  them  toward  us. 

Waukena  was  the  little  girl  that  played  around  the 
stricken  wigwam  on  the  bayou,  and  she  had  treas- 
ured the  stained  shaft  as  a  heritage  from  those  she 
had  loved.  To  her  it  was  a  sacred  thing.  The  life 
currents  it  had  changed  had  passed  on,  but  they 
seemed  to  meet  again  as  the  gray  haired  woman  sat 
before  her  flickering  fire,  with  the  mute  toys  of  the 
fateful  drama  about  her.  We  left  her  alone  with 
her  musings. 

When  we  came  one  evening,  a  week  later,  the 
door  was  open,  but  the  ashes  on  the  hearth  were 
cold.    On  the  rough  table  lay  the  mouldy  skull,  that 

[41] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

was  once  tlie  home  of  relentless  passion,  and  near  it, 
before  its  eyeless  caverns,  was  the  blood  stained 
shaft,  with  the  silver  point  neatly  fitted  back  into 
its  place. 

Waukena  may  have  stolen  away  through  the  soli- 
tudes of  the  dim  forest,  and  yielded  her  tired  heart 
unto  the  gods  of  her  people,  for  she  was  never  again 
seen  in  the  river  country.  Her  chastened  soul  may 
still  wander  in  the  shadowy  vistas  of  the  winter 
woods,  when  the  sun  sinks  in  aureoles  of  crimson 
beyond  the  lacery  of  the  tall  trees — that  stand  still 
and  ghostly — their  slender  boles  tinged  with  hues 
of  red,  like  the  lost  arrow  shafts  of  those  who  are 
gone. 

Sadly  and  thoughtfully  we  walked  down  the  old 
trail  that  bordered  the  bayou.  We  sat  for  a  long 
time  on  the  moss  covered  bank  and  talked  of  the 
arrow  and  the  destinies  it  had  touched.  The  pearly 
disk  of  the  full  moon  hung  in  the  eastern  sky.  A 
faint  mist  veiled  the  surface  of  the  softly  lisping 
water.  An  owl  swept  low  over  the  bayou  into  the 
gloom  of  the  forest.  The  pond  lilies  had  closed 
their  chalices  and  sealed  their  fragrance  for  another 
day.  Hosts  of  tiny  wings  were  moving  among  the 
sedges.  Fireflies  gemmed  the  dark  places  and  van- 
ished, as  human  lives  come  out  of  the  void,  waver 
with  transient  glow,  and  are  gone. 

There  was  a  tender  eloquence  and  witchery  in 
the  gentle  murmurings  of  the  night.  Mystic  voices 
were  in  the  woods.  Beyond  the  other  shore  the 
hoary  form  of  the  Father  of  the  Vines  seemed  trans- 

[42] 


THE  SILVER  ARROW 

figured  with  a  holy  light.  From  somewhere  in  the 
gloom  of  the  grotto  came  the  plaintive  notes  of  a 
whippoorwill. 

As  one  crying  in  the  wilderness,  Nebowie's  spirit 
was  calling  for  her  lost  lover  from  among  the  em- 
bowered labyrinths. 

In  the  twilights  of  drowsy  summers,  the  wild 
cadence  still  enchants  the  bayou.  The  moon  still 
rides  through  the  highways  of  the  star  strewn  skies, 
and,  with  pensive  luster,  pictures  the  guardian  of 
the  trysting  place  of  long  ago.  The  shadows  below 
the  lofty  forehead  have  deepened,  and  the  great 
silent  figure  bends  with  the  weight  of  the  onward 
years. 

Out  yonder,  in  the  moonlit  woods, 
With  humble  mien  he  stands, 
With  the  burden  of  the  fruitage 
In  his  vine  entangled  hands; 
Where  the  hiding  purpling  clusters 
Are  caught  by  silver  beams, 
That  revel  in  the  meshes 
Of  his  leafy  net  of  dreams. 
With    the   weariness    of    fulfillment, 
His  tendril  woven  brow 
Is  bowed  before  the  mystery 
Of  the  eternal  Why  and  How. 


[43] 


m 

THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 


m 

THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

JERRY  ISLAND  was  formed  by  one  of  the 
side  currents  of  the  river  that  wandered  off 
through  the  woods  and  lowland  and  rejoined 
the  main  stream  above  the  Big  Marsh. 

The  herons,  bitterns  and  wild  ducks  swept  low 
over  the  brush  entangled  water  course  and  dropped 
into  the  quiet  open  places.  Innumerable  clusters  of 
small  mud  turtles  fringed  the  drift  wood  and  fallen 
timbers  that  retarded  the  sluggish  current.  The 
patriarchs  of  the  hard  shelled  brotherhood— moss 
covered  and  intolerant — spent  their  days  on  the 
half-submerged  gray  logs  in  somnolent  isolation. 

Kingfishers,  crows  and  hawks  found  a  fecund 
hunting  ground  along  the  winding  byway.  Squirrels 
and  chipmunks  raced  over  the  recumbent  trunks, 
and  whisked  their  bushy  tails  in  the  patches  of  sun- 
light that  filtered  through  the  interlacing  boughs 
above  them. 

At  night  the  owls,  coons,  minks  and  muskrats  ex- 
plored the  wet  labyrinths,  aged  bull  frogs  trumpeted 
dolefully,  and  stealthy  nocturnal  prowlers  came 
there  to  drink.  Sometimes  the  splash  of  a  fish  broke 
the  stillness,  and  little  rings  crept  away  over  the 

[47] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEK 

surface  and  lost  themselves  among  the  weeds  and 
floating  moss. 

Long  ago  the  trails  of  wolves,  deer,  and  other 
large  animals  appeared  in  the  snow  on  the  island 
during  the  winter ;  bear  tracks  were  often  found,  and 
there  is  a  legend  among  the  latter  day  prosaics  that 
a  couple  of  panthers  once  had  a  den  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. In  later  years  most  of  the  winter  pathways 
were  made  by  foxes  and  rabbits  and  their  human 
and  canine  pursuers. 

Near  the  bank  of  the  main  stream  stood  a  de- 
cayed but  well  constructed  old  house.  It  was  built 
of  faced  logs  with  mortar  between  them.  There 
were  three  rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  and  some 
steep  narrow  stairs  led  into  an  attic  next  to  the  roof 
that  sloped  to  the  floor  along  its  sides. 

My  friend  ''Buck"  Granger,  a  gray  haired  old 
trapper  and  hunter,  whose  grandfather  built  the 
house  about  a  hundred  years  ago,  ushered  me  up 
the  creaky  stairs  late  one  night. 

The  alert  eyes  of  a  red  squirrel  peered  at  us  from 
the  end  of  a  tattered  mink  muif  that  lay  on  an  oak 
chest  close  to  the  roof,  and  vanished.  Apparently 
the  small  visitor  was  not  greatly  disturbed,  for, 
after  two  or  three  gentle  undulations,  the  muff  was 
motionless. 

After  conventional  but  cordial  injunctions  to  make 
myself  at  home.  Buck  departed  to  his  quarters  below. 

The  quaint  and  picturesque  attic  was  full  of  inter- 
est. An  old  fashioned  bedstead  stood  in  the  room, 
a  cumbrous,  home  made  "four  poster."     Over  its 

[48] 


V 


T 

V 

>r 

^- 

V^' 

'SiC 

Familiar  Haunts 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

cord  lacings  was  a  thick  feather  bed,  several  com- 
forters, and  a  multicolored  patchwork  quilt.  The 
sheets  and  pillow  slips  were  of  coarsely  woven  linen. 

Bunches  of  seed  com  and  dried  herbs  were  sus- 
pended from  pegs  along  the  roof  timbers ;  near  the 
oak  chest  was  a  spinning  wheel,  and  a  broken  cradle 
— all  veiled  with  mantles  of  fine  dust  and  cobwebs. 
The  cradle,  in  which  incipient  genius  may  once  have 
slumbered,  was  filled  with  bags  of  beans,  ears  of 
pop  com,  and  hickory  nuts.  Squirrels  and  white 
footed  mice  from  the  surrounding  woods  had  held 
high  revel  in  the  tempting  hoard. 

The  cradle  had  guarded  the  infancy  of  many  little 
furred  families  after  its  first  usefulness  had  ceased, 
for  there  were  cosy  tangled  nests  of  shredded  cot- 
ton and  woolen  material  among  its  mixed  contents. 

Moths  had  worked  sad  havoc  in  the  row  of  worn 
out  garments  that  festooned  the  cross  beams.  Some 
rusty  muskrat  traps  and  obsolete  fire  arms  were 
heaped  in  one  comer,  with  discarded  hats  and  boots. 

Close  to  the  roof,  near  the  edge  of  the  unprotected 
stairway,  was  a  tall  silent  clock.  It  was  very  old. 
Most  of  the  veneering  had  chipped  away  from  its 
woodwork,  parts  of  the  enameled  and  grotesquely 
ornamented  dial  had  scaled  off,  and  across  the 
scarred  face  its  one  crippled  hand  pointed  to  the 
figure  seven.  The  worn  mechanism  had  not  pulsated 
for  many  years. 

Innumerable  tiny  fibers  connected  the  top  and 
sides  of  the  old  clock  with  the  sloping  roof  timbers, 
and   a    sinister   watcher,   hairy   and   misshapen — 

[49] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

crouched  within  the  mouth  of  a  tubular  web  above 
the  dial. 

Tenuous  highways  spanned  the  spaces  between  the 
rafters.  Gauzy  filaments  led  away  into  obscurities, 
and  gossamer  shreds  hung  motionless  from  the 
upper  gloom.  There  were  mazes  of  webs,  woven  by 
generations  of  spiders,  laden  with  impalpable  dust, 
and  tenantless.  The  patient  spinners  had  lived  their 
little  day  and  left  their  airy  tissues  to  the  mercy  of 
the  years.  Like  flimsy  relics  of  human  endeavor,  the 
frail  structures  awaited  the  inevitable. 

There  was  an  impression  of  mistiness  and  haziness 
in  the  wandering  and  broken  fibers,  and  the  filmy 
labyrinths — as  of  a  brain  filled  with  fancies  that 
were  inchoate  and  confused — an  abode  of  idle 
dreams. 

The  web  spanned  attic  pictured  a  mind,  inert  and 
fettered  by  dogma  and  tradition,  in  which  existence 
is  passive,  and  where  vital  currents  are  stilled — 
where  light  is  instinctively  excluded  and  intrusion 
of  extraneous  ideas  is  resented.  Occupants  of  en- 
dowed chairs  in  old  universities,  pedantic  art 
classicists,  smug  dignitaries  of  established  churches, 
and  other  guardians  of  embalmed  and  encrusted 
conclusions,  are  apt  to  have  such  attics.  Like  the 
misshapen  watcher  within  the  tubular  web  above 
the  dial,  they  crouch  in  musty  seclusion. 

I  opened  the  queer  looking  bed,  that  had  evidently 
been  made  up  a  long  time,  and  lay  for  half  an  hour 
or  so,  trying  to  read  by  the  light  of  the  sputtering 
candle.    The  subtle  spell  of  the  old  attic  at  length 

[50] 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

overcame  the  charm  of  my  author,  and  I  gave  myself 
over  to  a  troop  of  thronging  fancies. 

Although  the  invisible  inmate  of  the  muff  gave 
a  life  accent  to  the  room,  the  quiet  was  oppressive. 
A  sense  of  seclusion  from  realities  pervaded  the 
human  belongings.  Intimate  personal  things,  that 
only  vanished  hands  have  touched,  seem  to  possess 
an  indefinable  remoteness— as  if  they  pertained  to 
something  detached  and  far  away — and  lingered  in 
an  atmosphere  of  spiritual  loneliness. 

When  the  moon  beams  came  through  the  cob- 
webbed  window  frame,  and  crept  along  the  floor  to 
the  ghostly  old  clock,  it  haunted  the  room  with  a 
vague  impression  of  weariness  and  futility.  It 
seemed  to  stand  in  mute  and  solemn  mockery  of  the 
eternal  hours  that  had  passed  on  and  left  it  in  hope- 
less vigil  by  the  wayside. 

The  watcher  in  the  web— grim  and  silent,  like  a 
waiting  sexton — awakened  uncanny  thought.  There 
was  gruesome  suggestion  in  the  dark  stairway  hole 
at  the  foot  of  the  clock — as  if  it  had  been  newly  dug 
in  the  earth. 

Like  evil  phantoms  into  an  idle  mind,  a  pair  of 
bats  glided  swiftly  in  through  the  open  window, 
circled  noiselessly  about,  and  departed. 

The  moon  rays  touched  something  in  the  rubbish 
at  the  further  end  of  the  room  that  reflected  a  dull 
light.  After  restraining  my  curiosity  for  some  time, 
I  arose,  crossed  the  floor,  and  picked  up  a  strange 
looking  box.  It  was  about  fourteen  inches  long, 
nine  inches  high,  and  a  foot  wide.  Its  hasp  and  small 

[51] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

handle  on  the  cover  appeared  to  be  of  wrought  iron, 
but  the  embossed  facing  that  covered  the  sides  and 
ends,  and  the  strips  that  protected  the  edges,  were 
of  brass,  studded  with  nails  of  the  same  metal.  It 
seemed  in  the  dim  light  to  be  much  corroded  by 
time. 

Hoping  that  something  might  be  learned  of  its 
history  in  the  morning,  I  placed  the  box  on  the  floor 
near  the  bed,  and  was  finally  lulled  to  belated  slum- 
ber by  the  crickets  in  the  crevices  of  the  logs,  and 
the  rustlings  of  tiny  feet  among  the  contents  of  the 
cradle.  Speculations  regarding  the  brass  bound  box 
softly  blended  into  dreams. 

During  breakfast  the  next  morning  my  host  told 
me  that  the  box  had  once  belonged  to  a  Jesuit  priest; 
some  Indians  who  formerly  lived  on  the  island  had 
given  it  to  his  grandfather,  and  it  had  been  in  the 
attic  ever  since  the  house  was  built.  He  had  often 
looked  at  its  contents  but  could  make  nothing  of 
them,  and  considered  that  ''they  were  not  of  much 
account."  He  said  he  would  be  glad  to  have  me 
go  through  them  and  see  if  they  were  of  any  value. 
He  also  said  that  there  was  a  bundle  of  old  papers* 
in  the  oak  chest  that  he  hoped  I  would  look  over,  as 
his  grandfather  had  written  much  concerning  the 
river  and  the  Indians  that  might  interest  me. 

Filled  with  anticipation  of  congenial  occupation 
during  the  rainy  day,  I  went  with  Buck  to  the  attic 
after  breakfast.  We  dragged  a  decrepit  walnut  table 
to  the  window  and  dusted  it  carefully.  Buck  brought 
from  the  chest  a  small  bundle  that  was  tied  up  in 

[52] 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

brown  paper  and  left  it  with  me.  The  tenant  of  the 
muif  had  decamped,  probably  resenting  the  intru- 
sion into  his  domain.  I  brought  the  brass  bound 
box,  found  a  comfortable  hickory  chair,  lighted  3 
tranquilizing  pipe,  and  was  soon  absorbed  in  the 
stack  of  closely  written  manuscript  that  I  found  in 
the  bundle. 

Some  parts  of  it  were  illegible  and  the  spelling 
was  unique.  The  old  man  probably  considered  cor- 
rect spelling  to  be  an  accomplishment  of  mere  lit- 
erary hacks,  and  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  an 
author  who  had  anything  else  to  think  of  to  pay 
much  attention  to  it. 

There  was  much  information  regarding  the  Indian 
occupation  of  the  river  country.  It  appeared  that 
there  were  about  fifty  wigwams  on  the  island  when 
the  red  men  were  compelled  to  leave  by  the  govern- 
ment. Most  of  them  were  taken  to  a  reservation 
out  west,  and  a  number  went  to  some  lands  of  their 
kindred  along  the  St.  Joseph  river  in  Michigan. 
Eventually  a  few  returned  and  lived  in  scat- 
tered isolation,  but  their  tribal  organization 
was  broken  up. 

The  head  of  the  village  on  Jerry  Island  was  a 
venerable  warrior  named  ''Hot  Ashes."  He  was 
a  friend  of  Buck's  grandfather,  and  it  was  he  who 
gave  him  the  brass  bound  box  when  the  Indians  left. 
He  said  it  had  been  brought  to  the  island  by  the 
''Black  Robe"  many  years  before,  and  that  he  had 
left  it  in  the  mission  house  when  he  went  away. 

The  box  had  been  treasured  by  the  Indians,  for  it 

[53] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

was  supposed  for  a  long  time  to  be  a  ''great  medi- 
cine," but  when  they  departed  they  considered  it  a 
useless  burden.  There  had  been  much  misfortune 
after  the  Black  Eobe  left  and  their  faith  in  its 
powers  gradually  ceased. 

The  going  away  of  the  kindly  priest  was  much 
mourned  by  his  dusky  flock.  He  was  supposed  to 
have  departed  on  some  mysterious  errand,  and  to 
have  met  fatality  in  the  woods,  but  they  were  never 
able  to  find  any  traces  of  him. 

Hot  Ashes  believed  that  the  Black  Eobe  had  a 
great  trouble,  as,  before  his  disappearance,  he  neg- 
lected the  work  of  his  mission  for  several  days,  and 
walked  about  on  the  island,  carrying  a  little  bundle 
which  he  was  seen  to  throw  into  the  river  the  day 
he  left. 

There  was  no  further  reference  in  the  manuscript 
to  the  Black  Eobe,  or  to  the  brass  bound  box,  which 
I  now  opened. 

There  were  two  compartments,  divided  into  sec- 
tions, one  on  either  side  of  a  larger  opening  in  the 
middle.  These  contained  various  small  articles. 
Two  of  them  fitted  low  square  bottles,  one  of  which 
was  half  filled  with  a  black  powdery  substance.  On 
the  label,  that  fell  off  when  I  removed  the  bottle,  I 
deciphered  the  word  ENCEE.  Experiment  justified 
the  conclusion  that  the  powder  had  been  added  to 
water  when  ink  was  needed.  A  dry  coating  on  the 
inside  of  the  other  bottle  indicated  that  it  had  been 
used  for  this  purpose. 

In  a  larger  section  were  some  beads  that  were 

[54] 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

once  a  rosary,  fragments  of  a  silk  cord  that  had  held 
them  together,  and  a  crucifix. 

At  the  center  of  each  end  of  the  box,  were  half 
circular  rests,  probably  designed  to  hold  a  chalice. 
The  space  contained  a  breviary,  bound  in  leather, 
and  much  worn,  some  ink  stained  quill  pens,  a  small 
box  of  fine  sand  that  had  been  used  for  blotting,  and 
some  loosely  folded  papers.  They  consisted  mostly 
of  letters  from  the  Superior  of  the  Mission,  and  per- 
tained to  routine  affairs,  suggestions  regarding  the 
work  of  the  little  mission,  and  congratulations  on  its 
successful  progress. 

Comparison  of  the  depth  of  the  opening  with  the 
outside  of  the  box  revealed  the  existence  of  a  secret 
space,  and  it  was  only  after  long  study  and  experi- 
ment that  I  discovered  the  means  of  access  to  it.  On 
lifting  its  cover  I  found  a  flexible  cloth  covered  book 
and  a  letter  enclosed  in  oiled  silk,  that  was  much 
tattered. 

The  book,  which  was  yellow  with  age,  and  frayed 
at  the  edges,  contained  closely  written  pages  in 
French,  many  of  them  much  faded,  obscure,  and  in 
some  places  entirely  obliterated. 

The  chirography  was  in  the  main  neat  and 
methodical,  but  apparently  the  writing  had  been 
done  under  many  varying  conditions  that  made  uni- 
formity impossible.  Several  small  dramngs  were 
scattered  through  the  text.  Some  of  them  showed 
considerable  skill  and  care,  and  the  others  were 
rough  topographic  sketches  and  memorandums  of 
routes. 

[55] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

The  book  was  the  journal  of  Pierre  de  Lisle,  a 
young  Jesuit  missionary  who  left  France  in  1723  to 
carry  salvation  to  the  heathen  in  the  remote  wilder- 
ness of  the  new  continent. 

The  early  entries  related  to  his  novitiate  in  Paris, 
his  work  in  the  Jesuit  college,  and  the  preparations 
for  his  departure  for  America.  They  reflected  his 
hopes  for  the  success  of  his  perilous  undertaking. 

There  were  vague  references  to  a  deep  affliction, 
and  to  periods  of  heart  sickness  and  mental  depres- 
sion, by  reason  of  which  he  had  taken  the  long  and 
difficult  path  of  self  denial  and  self  eifacement  that 
led  him  into  the  activities  of  the  Society  of  Jesus. 

He  had  spent  the  required  years  in  the  subjugation 
of  the  flesh  and  the  sanctification  of  mind  and  soul, 
when  he  went  on  board  the  vessel  that  was  to  take 
him  to  Quebec. 

In  the  hope  of  finding  a  clue  to  Pierre's  sorrow, 
I  extracted  the  letter  from  its  silk  covering.  It  had 
evidently  been  cherished  through  the  vicissitudes  of 
purification  and  the  perils  of  arduous  journeyings. 
It  was  signed  by  Marie  d'Aubigney,  and  told  of  her 
love,  that  was  undying  but  hopeless,  and  of  her  ap- 
proaching compulsory  marriage  to  *'M.  le  Marquis." 
His  name  did  not  appear  in  the  letter. 

Mingled  with  the  musty  odor  of  the  ancient  mis- 
sive, I  thought  I  detected  a  faint  lingering  perfume 
— at  least  there  was  one  in  the  message,  if  not  in 
the  paper  that  bore  it. 

Several  pages  of  the  journal  were  devoted  to  the 
tempestuous   voyage    across   the    Atlantic,    and   a 

[56] 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

gloomy  week  spent  in  the  fog  off  the  Grand  Banks. 
The  vessel  finally  reached  Quebec,  where  Pierre  re- 
ported to  the  Superior  of  the  Canadian  Mission. 

He  and  several  other  missionaries,  accompanied 
by  voyageurs  and  Indian  guides,  made  a  long  and 
eventful  trip  up  the  St.  Lawrence  and  Ottawa  riv- 
ers to  Georgian  Bay.  They  skirted  its  shores  to 
Lake  Huron,  where  a  violent  gale  scattered  their 
boats,  and  wrecked  two  of  them. 

After  much  danger  and  hardship  the  party  landed 
on  the  wild  coast,  but  the  food  supplies  had  been 
lost  in  the  turbulent  waters.  In  an  attempt  to  find 
sustenance,  Pierre  and  one  companion  wandered  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  camp  and  lost  their 
way  in  a  snowstorm.  They  found  an  Indian  vil- 
lage that  had  been  depopulated  by  small  pox,  and 
took  refuge  in  one  of  the  squalid  huts,  where  they 
were  besieged  by  a  pack  of  wolves  for  several  days. 
Had  it  not  been  for  some  scraps  of  dried  fish  that 
they  fortunately  found  in  the  hut,  they  would  have 
starved.  They  were  finally  rescued,  and  Pierre 
ascribed  their  deliverance  to  St.  Francis. 

The  Indians  succeeded  in  killing  some  game  in 
the  woods,  and,  after  a  hazardous  journey,  the  party 
reached  Mackinac.  Pierre  went  from  there  to 
Green  Bay.  He  stayed  a  few  months  and  departed 
for  the  mission  on  the  St.  Joseph  river,  where  he 
remained  a  year. 

The  journal  gave  many  details  of  his  life  as  an 
assistant  at  this  mission,  where  he  baptized  numer- 

[57] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

ous  converts,  and  greatly  increased  the  attendance 
at  the  mission  school. 

In  the  hope  of  enlarging  his  usefulness,  he  sent  a 
letter  to  Quebec,  asking  permission  to  found  a  new 
mission  among  the  Indians  inhabiting  the  river 
country  south  of  the  St.  Joseph.  With  the  doubt- 
ful means  of  communication  the  letter  was  a  long 
time  in  reaching  its  destination,  and  he  had  about 
given  up  hope  when  a  favorable  reply  came. 

With  one  of  his  converts  as  a  guide,  he  departed 
for  the  field  of  his  new  labors.  They  ascended  the 
St.  Joseph  in  a  canoe,  made  the  portage  from  its 
headwaters,  and  descended  the  Kankakee. 

Frequent  mention  was  made  in  the  journal  of  the 
faithful  guide,  who  proved  invaluable,  and  of  the 
beautiful  scenery  of  the  route.  Camps  were  pitched 
on  the  verdant  banks  at  night,  but  once,  in  passing 
through  one  of  the  vast  marshes,  they  lost  the  un- 
certain channel  and  were  compelled  to  sleep  in  the 
canoe. 

They  stopped  at  a  few  Indian  villages  along  the 
river  and  were  received  with  kindness.  The  jour- 
ney was  continued  down  stream  beyond  Jerry  Is- 
land. The  populous  communities  above  and  below 
that  point  commended  it  to  his  judgment.  He  re- 
turned and  began  the  work  of  establishing  his  mis- 
sion. 

Although  he  found  the  manifold  vices  of  pagan- 
ism in  the  villages,  he  was  treated  with  bountiful 
hospitality.  Successive  feasts  were  prepared  in  his 
honor,  in  which  boiled  dog  was  the  "piece  de  re- 

[58] 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

sistance."  Willing  hands  assisted  in  the  construc- 
tion of  the  mission  house,  and  the  date  of  the  first 
mass  was  recorded  in  the  journal. 

There  was  much  sickness  among  the  Indians  when 
Pierre  came,  the  nature  of  which  did  not  appear. 
Orgies  and  incantations  continued  day  and  night  to 
conjure  away  the  epidemic.  He  performed  the  con- 
solatory offices  of  his  church  in  the  afflicted  wig- 
wams. Soon  after  his  arrival  practically  all  of  the 
sickness  disappeared.  Their  recovered  health  con- 
vinced the  credulous  savages  that  the  Black  Robe 
possessed  a  mysterious  power,  and  the  small  bottle 
of  black  powder  was  thought  to  be  a  mighty  magic. 

Ink  has  swayed  the  destinies  of  countless  mil- 
lions, but  here  its  potency  seems  to  have  played  a 
strange  role. 

Much  of  the  journal  was  devoted  to  happenings 
that  now  seem  trivial,  but  to  the  zealous  disciple  of 
Loyola — a  protagonist  of  his  faith  on  a  spiritual 
frontier — they  were  of  great  moment.  Detached 
from  their  contemporary  human  associations, 
events  must  affect  the  emotions  or  the  interests  of 
the  mass  of  mankind  if  their  records  endure. 

Pierre  assisted  in  the  councils,  gave  advice  on 
temporal  affairs,  and  patiently  inculcated  the  pre- 
cepts of  his  religion  in  the  minds  of  his  primitive 
flock.  Impressive  baptisms  and  beautiful  deaths 
were  noted  at  length.  Converts  who  strayed  from 
the  fold,  and  were  induced  to  return,  were  given 
much  space. 

Here  and  there  poetic  reflections  graced  the  faded 

[59] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

pages,  and  pious  musings  were  recorded.  Original 
verse,  and  quotations  from  favorite  authors,  that 
seemed  inspired  by  melancholy  hours,  mingled  with 
the  text.  The  names  of  the  various  saint's  days 
were  often  used  as  captions  for  the  entries,  instead 
of  calendar  dates. 

In  the  back  of  the  book  was  a  list  of  names  of 
converts,  dates  of  baptism,  marriages  and  deaths, 
and  a  vocabulary  of  about  three  hundred  words  of 
the  Pottowatomie  dialect  of  the  Algonquin  language, 
with  their  French  equivalents.  Variations  in  the 
chirography  indicated  that  the  lists  had  grown 
gradually,  as  additions  were  made  with  different 
pens. 

A  gloomy  spirit  seemed  to  pervade  the  dim  pages. 
The  broken  heart  of  Pierre  de  Lisle  throbbed  be- 
tween the  lines  of  the  story  of  his  life  in  the  wil- 
derness. He  had  carried  his  cross  to  the  far  places, 
and,  in  isolation,  he  yearned  for  the  healing  balm 
of  forgetfulness  on  his  fevered  soul.  There  were 
evidences  of  a  great  mental  conflict  among  the  last 
entries.  He  mentioned  the  arrival  at  the  island  of 
Jacques  Le  Moyne,  a  Jesuit  priest,  who  was  on  his 
way  to  a  distant  post  on  the  Mississippi,  and  spent 
several  weeks  with  him.  They  had  been  boyhood 
friends  in  France  and  had  entered  the  Jesuit  col- 
lege at  about  the  same  time.  His  coming  was  a 
breath  of  life  from  the  outer  world. 

Le  Moyne  told  him  of  tne  death  of  the  Marquis 
de  Courcelles,  whose  existence  had  darkened 
Pierre's  life,  and  all  of  the  precepts,  tenets,  and 

[60] 


THE  BRASS  BOUND  BOX 

pageantry  of  the  Church  of  Rome  floated  away  as 
mists  before  a  freshening  wind. 

Pierre  was  bom  again.  The  dormant  life  cur- 
rents quickened,  and  his  virile  soul  and  body  ex- 
ulted in  emancipation  and  new  found  hope. 

The  entries  in  the  journal  closed  with  a  sorrow- 
ful farewell  to  his  spiritual  charges,  of  which  they 
probably  never  knew,  and  an  expression  of  pathetic 
gratitude  to  his  friend  Jacques,  who  had  opened  a 
gate  between  desolation  and  earthly  paradise,  for 
warm  arms  in  France  were  reaching  across  the 
stormy  seas,  and  into  the  wilds  of  the  new  world 
for  Pierre  de  Lisle. 

It  seemed  strange  that  he  had  left  the  journal 
and  the  letter  of  Marie  d'Aubigney.  He  was  prob- 
ably obsessed  by  his  one  dominant  thought,  and  nat- 
urally excluded  everything  not  needed  for  his  long 
journey,  but  if  his  mind  had  not  been  much  per- 
turbed and  confused  he  might  have  taken  or  de- 
stroyed the  journal,  but  he  surely  would  have  car- 
ried the  precious  letter  with  him. 

The  little  bundle  that  he  threw  into  the  river,  the 
day  he  left  the  island,  may  have  contained  his  sac- 
ramental chalice,  for  in  it  his  lips  had  found  bit- 
ter waters. 

He  probably  dissembled  his  apostasy  and  utilized 
such  Jesuit  facilities  as  were  available  in  getting 
back  to  his  native  land,  lulling  his  conscience  with 
one  of  the  maxims  of  the  Society  of  Jesus — ''the 
end  justifies  the  means"— but  be  that  as  it  may,  the 
chronicles  in  the  attic  had  come  to  an  end. 

[61] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

I  sat  for  a  long  time,  listening  to  the  patter  of 
the  rain  on  the  old  roof,  and  mused  over  the  frail 
memorials. 

There  is  but  one  great  passion  in  the  world.  With 
it  all  human  destiny  is  entwined.  Votaries  of  es- 
tablished religion  have  ever  been  recruited  from  the 
disconsolate.  The  gray  walls  of  convents  and  mon- 
asteries have  lured  the  heart  stricken,  and  in  remote 
fields  of  pious  endeavor  unguents  have  been  sought 
for  cruel  wounds.  In  the  waste  places  of  the  earth 
have  been  scattered  the  ashes  of  despair,  but  while 
life  lasts,  it  somewhere  holds  the  eternal  chords. 
At  hope 's  vibrant  touch  the  enfeebled  strings  awake 
and  attune  to  the  sublime  strains  of  the  Great  Lyric. 

The  faint  echo  of  a  song  lingered  in  the  brass 
bound  box.  The  silk  covered  letter  intoned  a  dream 
melody  that  the  years  had  not  hushed. 


[62] 


IV 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK'^  OF  BUCK 
GRANGER'S  GRANDFATHER 


IV 


THE  "WETHER  BOOK"  OF  BUCK  GRANGER'S 
GRANDFATHER 

MY  friend  "Buck"  told  me  something  of  Ms 
grandfather's  history  as  we  sat  in  the 
genial  glow  of  the  stone  fireplace  the 
evening  after  I  had  examined  the  contents  of  the 
brass  bound  box. 

The  old  pioneer,  with  his  wife  and  two  sons,  had 
come  west  in  1810  and  located  on  the  island.  He 
found  many  Indians  there  and  his  relations  with 
them  were  very  friendly.  A  small  area  was  cleared 
and  cultivated  on  the  island,  but  the  main  source 
of  livelihood  was  hunting,  fishing  and  trapping.  The 
woods  and  waters  teemed  with  life  and  nature 
yielded  easily  of  her  abundance. 

The  old  man  lived  alone  for  many  years  after  the 
death  of  his  wife.  His  sons  married  and  went  far- 
ther west.  Two  years  before  he  died  one  of  the 
sons.  Buck's  father,  returned  with  his  wife  and  lit- 
tle boy,  to  the  old  home.  Buck  was  now  the  only 
surviving  member  of  the  family. 

His  recollections  of  his  grandfather  were  rather 
vague.  He  remembered  him  as  an  old  man  with 
a  white  bushy  beard,  frowsy  coon  skin  cap,  ear 
muffs,  and  fur  mittens.    He  had  spent  much  time 

[65] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

tree,  which  it  was  unable  to  climb.  He  had  died 
with  his  leg  across  the  young  exposed  root  that  had 
grown  around  and  through  the  mechanism,  until 
only  a  portion  of  the  rusty  chain,  the  end  of  the 
spring,  and  the  upper  parts  of  the  jaws  that  held 
the  little  bones  remained.  The  story  of  the  trag- 
edy was  plainly  told. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  chest  was  a  thick  leather 
bound  book.  On  the  cover  was  some  crude  lettering 
in  black  ink,  with  labored  attempts  at  ornamenta- 
tion. On  removing  the  dust  I  deciphered  the  in- 
scription : 

WETHER  BOOK— JOSIAH  GRANGER 

Evidently  its  author  had  spent  much  time  in  keep- 
ing a  record  of  the  weather  and  of  his  life  on  the 
island.  Innumerable  thermometer  readings  filled 
columns  at  the  right  of  the  pages.  After  most  of 
the  dates  were  weather  observations,  comments  on 
intrusive  friends,  and  various  things  that  had  come 
within  the  sphere  of  a  lonely  existence. 

Diaries  are  pictures  of  character — unsafe  reposi- 
tories of  intimate  personal  things  that  enlighten  and 
betray.  Among  the  pages  were  traces  of  petty 
jealousies  and  much  harmless  egotism.  Here  and 
there  were  patches  of  sunlight,  touches  of  irony  and 
unconscious  humor.  At  times  a  tinge  of  pathos 
shadowed  the  lines  of  the  "wether  book,"  and  un- 
der it  all  was  the  human  story  of  one  who,  in  this 

[67] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

humble  form  of  expression,  had  sought  relief  from 
solitude. 

As  I  perused  the  faded  chronicles  the  figure  of 
the  old  man,  sitting  before  his  fire  at  night,  with 
his  pipe  and  almanac,  diligently  recording  the  hap- 
penings of  the  days  that  passed  in  his  little  world, 
seemed  a  reality. 

The  record  covered  a  number  of  years,  but  ex- 
tracts from  the  entries  of  1852  will  convey  a  gen- 
eral idea  of  the  contents  of  the  old  book. 

Jem  1st — This  is  the  first  of  the  yeare  &  I  start 
in  not  very  well.  Cold  prevales  &  a  good  dele  of 
snow.  Snow  drifts  stacked  around  the  house. 
Cant  see  out.     I  stay  mostly  in  my  blankett. 

Jan  10th — ^Lots  of  snow.  Froze  hard  last  nite. 
Big  wind.  Stade  in  &  must  hole  up  for  rest  of  win- 
ter if  this  keaps  up.  Rumetiziam  bad.  Hiram 
Barnes  com  today  with  feet  froze.  It  is  blowing 
bad.  Looks  worse  outside.  Moon  eclips  was  pre- 
dicted for  the  8th  but  nuthing  of  the  kind  sene. 

Jan  12tli — I  notis  by  my  almanack  Lady  J.  Gray 
behedded  today  in  1555  but  what  for  does  not  say  & 
hevy  rain  storms  predicted  but  nuthing  of  the  kind. 
It  has  never  ben  colder.  I  got  to  melt  som  more 
snow  and  get  the  pump  going.     She  is  froze  hard. 

Jan  14th — "Was  out  som  today  &  it  looks  thawy. 
Thaw  coming.  Som  deer  traks  on  iland.  Will  get 
after  deer  soon. 

Jan  16th — Got  a  buck  today  &  fixed  the  meat. 
Sunup  «&  Sunsett  both  according  to  clock.     Evry- 

[68] 


THE  '^WETHEE  BOOK" 

thing  on  skedule.     Som  sweling  white  cloudds  off 
in  W.     The  cold  abates  som. 

Jem  20 — We  are  geting  storms  in  these  parts  & 
a  good  dele  of  wether  comes  at  nite,  Som  days 
are  cleare  «fc  cold  with  merkery  stedy  at  Zero.  The 
moon  is  around  but  nites  dark  &  clouddy.  Moon 
must  hav  ben  full  the  7th  but  not  sene. 

Jan  31st — Month  closes  mild  yet  flying  snow. 
River  ice  som  places  over  a  ft.  thick.  This  has 
ben  a  remarkabel  month.  Thare  was  too  much 
wether  in  Jan.  The  merkery  gets  funny  now  and 
then.    I  dont  think  eny  thermomter  is  akkerate. 

Feb  2nd — Big  thaw  has  com  &  erly  in  the  morning 
a  shour  of  rain.  Got  a  buck  on  the  ice  at  the  marsh 
&  got  the  meat  home  late.  This  was  yesterdy. 
Snow  is  all  mushy.  This  has  ben  a  quere  day.  It 
is  now  5  P.M. 

Feb  3rd — Snow  flurrys  mixed  with  rain.  Ice 
braking  som.  I  heare  meney  cracks  out  on  the 
river.  As  I  sett  down  to  rite  in  my  wether  book 
I  beleve  the  back  bone  of  the  winter  is  broke. 

Feb  5-6-7-8-9-10— Radi  1  nice  brite  day  &  ever 
sence  a  whopping  big  storm.  Big  drifts.  Cant  see 
out.  Must  get  some  backake  ointmint.  Full  moon 
was  on  the  5th.  Good  thing  I  got  a  lot  of  wood  in. 
I  notis  in  my  almanack  storms  probabel  this  month 
&  this  is  rite. 

Feb  15th — Out  yesterdy  &  20  inches  snow  in 
woods.  Shot  3  patriches  near  the  house.  Wolves 
yelld  all  nite.  Sene  gese  flying  N.  but  they  beter 
go  back.    It  is  warmer  thow.     Som  deer  crossed 

[69] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

river  last  nite.  This  is  being  a  remarkabel  month. 
Cool  &  misty  air  prevales  as  I  rite. 

Feb  20 — I  was  down  to  the  marsh.  This  was  yes- 
terdy.  Got  36  rats  from  42  trapps.  2  trapps  lost. 
Som  rat  houses  near  chanel  butted  out  by  ice  mov- 
ing along.  Sene  som  gese  very  high  going  N.  One 
I  think  was  a  flock  of  swanns.    Fogg  &  sleat  lonite. 

Feb  21-22-23-24-25— A\\  bad  days.  G.  Washing- 
ton had  a  birthday  on  the  22nd.  That  was  my  birth- 
day too.  The  politicks  would  make  him  sick  if  he 
could  see  them  now.  Thares  lots  of  dead  pepil  that 
would  not  like  what  is  now  going  on,  and  we  would 
not  like  som  things  they  done  if  we  was  thare. 

Feb  28 — Snow  most  gone  &  hard  rain.  Lot  of 
ice  moving  in  river.  I  sene  4  flocks  gese  5  of  ducks, 
mostly  bloobills.  Thare  has  ben  few  deer  this  win- 
ter. I  got  2  bucks  &  1  doe  all  fat  in  good  condi- 
tion &  I  got  a  small  bear.  This  was  over  neare 
Wild  Catt  Swamp  on  the  18th  &  I  forgot  to  rite  it 
down.  Old  Josiah  &  the  dog  was  thare  on  that 
date. 

Feb  29th — This  is  leap  yeare.  Hav  not  ben  out 
today.  I  am  geting  throw  the  winter  all  rite.  Feb 
a  changabel  month.  It  closes  with  foggs  &  high 
water.  S.  Conkrite  com  today  on  his  way  to  the 
marsh.  His  noos  is  Ed  Baxter  &  Fanny  Noonan 
got  marrid  Jan  6th.  Probly  she  asked  him. 
Wether  tonite  looks  thick.  Cloudds  both  big  & 
black  are  in  the  West. 

March  5th — Gese  coming  rite  along  now  &  thou- 
sans  of  ducks.    Eats  on  the  marsh  ben  prety  fare. 

[70] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

Got  a  lot  so  far  but  probly  will  find  prices  bad. 
Your  uncle  Josiah  was  all  over  the  oak  tract  in  boat 
for  malards.  Got  over  50.  He  had  on  his  shoot- 
ing shirt.  They  was  after  the  acorns  in  about  2 
ft.  of  watter.  This  was  yesterdy.  Meney  ducks 
going  on  K  &  som  gese  gone  too  but  som  will  stay 
&  make  nests. 

March  11th — 2  egals  lit  today  on  the  iland  &  stade 
around  all  P.M.  They  may  think  of  nesting  heare. 
Old  Josiah  will  take  a  popp  at  them.  Dense  cloudds 
are  around. 

March  15th — ^I  notis  in  my  almanack  big  flodes 
all  over  the  south  &  sweling  rivers  predicted.  Big 
flode  heare  too  as  I  rite  &  evrything  overflode. 
River  ice  all  gone.  Lots  of  dead  timber  coming 
down  &  floting  bushes.  Most  of  the  noos  you  read 
in  the  almanack  is  bad.  On  most  all  of  the  dates 
bloodshed  &  fires  «&  famins  are  notised  &  meney 
batels  &  deaths  of  Kings  &  Queues.  Funy  no  Jacks 
are  spoken  of.  Shot  62  ducks  11  gese.  Lost  amini- 
tion  on  a  big  flock.  Snipe  are  around  &  som  plover 
coming  in.  Got  34  rats  &  a  wolf.  This  was  yesterdy. 
Saw  2  deer  at  Huckelbery  Byou.  They  left  on  time. 
Thare  was  wild  catt  traks  on  the  iland  Monday 
morning  after  a  lite  bust  of  snow.  Would  like  to 
get  that  cuss.  He  beter  look  out  for  the  old  man. 
His  skin  would  make  a  good  vest.  Moon  was  full  on 
the  6th  but  I  ben  busy  rite  along  &  not  evrything 
ritten  down.  This  is  a  bad  day  &  I  stade  in.  Awful 
hard  rain  going  on  as  I  rite.  You  get  a  buckett  full 
in  the  face  if  you  open  the  door.  High  wind  «fe  probly 

[71] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

a  lot  of  dammage  somwhare.  It  is  now  8.  P.M.  & 
your  uncle  Josiah  to  bed. 

March  16th — Clearing  wether.  Was  out  but 
rumetiziam  som  worse.  Lost  aminition  on  2  gese 
that  flew  over  at  evening.  My  almanack  says  the 
planatary  aspecks  for  planting  potattoes  will  be 
faverabel  in  4  weeks  now.  I  notis  thare  has  ben  a 
lot  of  small  animils  around.  Som  skunks  &  foxes. 
Must  put  out  som  trapps. 

March  20 — Clear  brite  &  calm  &  no  wether  now 
for  foar  days.  It  is  a  new  moon  like  a  mellin  rine 
tonite  &  I  sene  it  over  my  left  sholder.  It  hangs 
wet  in  the  west  &  this  menes  rain.  Fixed  the 
chickin  house  against  all  skunks  &  foxes  but  weezels 
may  get  in.  A  wolf  has  ben  around  the  iland.  A 
fogg  prevales  tonite. 

March  21 — Bad  day  but  it  gets  into  spring  now. 

March  22 — Good  wether  for  ducks  but  they  fly 
high.    Beter  for  gese.    Gusty  looking  sky  tonite. 

March  24th — I  went  after  them  yesterdy.  Got  no 
ducks  but  it  was  good  wether  for  them.  Shot  22 
gese.  Bad  day  for  gese  too.  Got  40  rats.  Perhaps 
a  small  snow  tonite.    Looks  likely. 

March  26th — Got  a  boat  full  of  rats.  Will  skin 
tomorrow.  This  was  yesterdy  I  got  the  rats.  Bad 
storm  today.  Cant  see  out.  Wether  foul  &  bad. 
Old  Josiah  gets  mushrats  all  rite  when  he  goes  out 
in  his  little  trapping  boat. 

March  27th — Cold  day.  Thermomter  busted 
March  10.  Cant  tell  how  cold  it  is  but  it  is  cold. 
The  merkery  must  be  way  down.    Lite  bust  of  snow 

[72] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

as  I  rite.    Must  get  som  Magic  Oil  for  stif  joints. 

March  28th — River  is  froze  along  edges  but  open 
in  the  curent.  Ducks  «&  Gese  moving  thick.  Big 
bunches  went  over  today  flying  high.  Som  deer 
around.  Must  go  after  deer  tomorrow.  A  lot  of 
Jaybirds  round  the  house.  Crows  &  Jaybirds  make 
rackett.  Must  hav  quiet.  Must  get  bag  of  small 
shot. 

March  30th— Got  no  deer  yesterdy.  Sene  one  but 
too  far  off.  If  could  hav  shot  with  a  spy  glass  I 
could  hav  got  him  if  I  had  one.  Oot  som  sasafras. 
Must  cook  som  spring  medicin.  I  now  have  all 
ingrediments. 

March  31st — Foggy  today.  Snipe  around.  Lite 
sprinkel  of  rain.  Lost  aminition  on  bunch  of  plover 
flying  over.  Chopped  som  wood.  Caught  2  weezels 
&  a  skunk.  This  was  yesterdy.  Froggs  are  around. 
Got  a  new  thermomter  but  I  think  it  not  akkerate. 
The  merkery  is  red.  Probly  all  rite  for  sumer 
wether.  Am  now  taking  Sistom  Tonick.  Good  dele 
of  baptist  wether  «fc  som  snow  this  month  but  in  gen- 
eral a  fine  month.  Ducks  &  gese  hav  ben  thicker 
than  hare  on  a  dog  &  I  done  well  on  rats  too.  Got 
all  trapps  out  of  marsh  &  som  not  mine.  Spring  is 
rite  on  skedule.  Tomorrow  is  April  fools  day  &  a 
lot  of  them  are  around. 

April  6-7-8-9-10— AW  fare  days  with  no  wether, 
but  a  mushy  bust  of  snow  has  com  as  I  rite.  On  the 
9th  was  Good  Friday.  Our  Lord  was  Crucufied  in 
my  Almanack  on  that  date.  That  was  a  big  mistake. 
I  notis  for  3  days  sunup  «&  sunsett  late  compard 

[73] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

•with  clock  so  hav  sett  clock.  Sun  &  clock  now  on 
skedule  acording  to  almanack  &  with  my  noon 
marker  on  the  stump  &  notch  in  window  sill  evry- 
thing  is  all  rite  up  to  date.  Your  uncle  Josiah  knos 
the  time  of  day. 

April  11th — I  see  that  Henry  Clay  was  bom  today 
in  1776.  I  was  always  a  Henry  Clay  man.  This  is 
Easter  Sunday  the  day  on  which  Our  Lord  is  Risen. 
Thare  is  a  lot  of  pepil  that  should  take  notis. 

April  15th — Buds  are  well  out  &  on  skedule. 
Thare  are  freckels  around  the  trees  showing  we  had 
a  hard  winter.  Froggs  are  around  thick.  It  was 
bad  wether  for  rats  in  Jan  &  Feb  but  they  wintered 
well.  I  must  go  after  supplys  &  som  spring  medicin. 
I  got  som  bisness  to  tend  to. 

April  18th — Must  plant  all  gardin  sass  now. 
Moon  is  right  tonite  &  this  is  the  time.  A  man  com 
up  from  Beaver  Lake  &  says  hard  winter  thare. 
Wm  Hull  a  stedy  helthy  man  of  good  bild  &  sober 
was  froze  with  cold.  He  was  coming  home  from  mil 
&  he  lived  over  neare  West  Creek.  This  was  Jan 
12th.  He  was  found  by  2  squas  out  after  wood. 
lie  was  found  froze.  He  owed  me  som  money. 
This  was  a  bad  day.    Sky  looks  all  chesy  tonite. 

April  20th — Befoar  sunup  a  lite  spatter  of  rain 
that  turned  into  bad  storm  with  high  wind.  All  this 
must  dry  out  then  must  plant.  Lots  of  herons  nest- 
ing up  to  herontown  this  yeare  same  as  usual  in 
the  sickamores.  Your  uncle  Josiah  was  all  in  thare 
in  a  boat.  A  hooting  owl  was  up  the  cottonwood 
last  nite  over  the  house.    I  got  up  with  the  gunn 

[74] 


THE  ^'WETHER  BOOK" 

&  made  a  bloody  mess  of  him.     They  cannot  hoot 
above  your  uncle  while  he  sleeps. 

April  24th — Jaybirds  &  crows  ben  jawing  a  good 
dele  round  the  house  &  making  a  rackett  &  thare  is 
a  lot  of  fox  squorls  &  coons  bobbing  around  the 
Hand  when  the  wether  is  still  &  a  bear  com  across. 
Would  like  to  get  that  cuss.  Lots  of  wolves  around. 
Big  spring  for  ducks  «&  gese  but  most  hav  left. 
Meny  staying  to  bild  nests.  Must  see  in  the  attio 
what  seeds  I  hav  then  must  plan.  Must  plant  erly 
stuff.    It  is  now  5  P.  M. 

April  26th — Got  all  seeds  in  yesterdy.  Bobbins 
&  Bloobirds  &  a  lot  of  Woodpekers  &  Chipping 
birds  are  around  &  they  are  mostly  bilding  nests, 
I  must  plant  som  mellins.  A  good  mellin  in  the 
shade  on  a  hot  day  is  a  fine  thing.  Almanack  pre- 
dicted April  would  be  seasonable  &  this  is  rite  so 
far. 

April  30th — Thares  skunks  on  the  iland  maybe 
3  or  4.  Froggs  are  prety  noisy.  Them  crokers  keap 
it  up.  Considrabel  snipe  around  &  some  plover. 
April  has  ben  a  remarkabel  month.  Mostly  wet  but 
meney  fare  days.  Thare  was  a  lot  of  wether  be- 
twene  the  1st  &  15th.  Lots  of  froggs  &  enybody 
that  wants  a  bullfrogg  pie  could  get  one  rite  heare 
if  they  went  after  it.    This  is  the  place. 

May  4th — No  wether  now  sence  the  30th.  Fare 
&  nether  warm  or  cold.  Florida  &  Iowa  admited 
into  The  Union  yesterdy  in  1845.  Them  are  twin 
states.    The  line  of  beens  has  sprouted  &  must  look 

[751 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

out  for  Jaybirds  they  will  get  into  these.  The  weeds 
will  com  along"  all  rite.    You  Bet. 

May  5th — N.  Bonapart  died  in  1821.  He  was  a 
bad  egg. 

May  8th — Sumery  wether  &  fishing  in  the  river 
is  good.  S.  Conkrite  was  down  &  says  he  got  a 
pike  of  17  lbs.  I  got  one  of  19.  Pike  are  thick.  I 
can  cetch  all  I  want  rite  in  front  of  the  house  & 
bass  &  cattfish.  It  is  knoing  whare  they  are.  He 
can  not  tell  me  eny  thing  he  is  a  wind  bag.  Old 
Josiah  was  not  born  yesterdy  or  the  day  befoar 
ether. 

May  10th — ^Vegetition  greening  up  &  evrything 
lively  &  on  skedule.  Pete  Quagno  &  his  squa  com 
today  to  see  how  I  was  &  if  I  had  eny  tobaco.  Him 
&  the  other  inguns  down  the  marsh  all  had  a  bad 
winter.  They  got  a  lot  of  rat  skins  &  coons  &  som 
Foxes.  They  et  the  bodies  of  all  them  animils  & 
smoaked  som.  Thare  is  nuthing  not  et  by  savidges. 
Thare  was  a  lot  of  sickness  around  thare.  It  shoured 
hard  again  to  day  as  well  as  yesterdy  &  this  may 
wash  them  oif  som.  Unusual  shours  along  with 
thunder  &  litening  all  P.M.  Them  inguns  went  back 
in  the  rain. 

May  12th — Plum  blosoms  plenty.  Potattoes  up. 
All  sines  say  a  hot  sumer.  Good  meny  snakes 
around  som  prety  long  ones.  Som  drizzel  in  the 
air  as  I  rite. 

May  13-14-15-16-17 — Spatters  of  rain  a  good  dele 
now.    Looks  like  a  wet  May  if  this  keaps  up. 

May  18th — Fishing  prety  good.     Got  a  boatful! 

[76] 


THE  '^ WETHER  BOOK" 

of  pike  &  bass  yesterdy.  I  heare  S.  Conkrite  has 
caught  nuthing  up  to  his  place  even  if  he  uses  netts. 
Must  salt  down  som  for  winter.  Thares  lots  of 
sukkers  in  the  river.  Evry  litle  while  you  get  one 
&  thare  are  a  few  eles.    Must  smoak  som. 

May  loth — I  put  som  70  lbs.  of  fish  in  the  pork 
brine  that  is  all  empty  now.  Must  get  another  barel 
for  pork  in  the  fall.    Sprinkels  as  I  rite. 

May  23rd — Sombody  stole  my  minnie  box  or  it 
floted  off.  On  this  day  my  almanack  says  Capt  Kidd 
a  famous  pirate  was  hung  in  London  &  this  was  rite. 
Thares  a  lot  around  now  but  not  famous.  Thick 
&  sticky  air  tonite. 

May  25th — Think  I  sene  a  lite  frost  this  morning. 
Funy  for  this  time  of  yeare.  Went  after  the  skunks 
on  the  iland  last  nite  &  got  som.  The  chickins  & 
me  do  not  want  skunks  around.  I  got  3  in  trapps 
&  1  with  g*unn  &  1  got  me.  You  Bet.  Thares  too 
meney  skunks.  Som  clouddy  tonite  with  wobblie 
sunsett. 

May  27th — Foxes  &  skunks  both  got  into  the 
chickins  last  nite.  Thares  too  meney  of  both  &  if 
the  chickins  would  only  roost  in  the  trees.  It  is 
hard  work  to  rase  chickins  &  they  get  lots  of  things 
the  mater  with  them.    Frisky  looking  sky  tonite. 

May  29th — Ed  Baxter  &  his  noo  wife  Fanny 
Noonan  com  today.  It  is  hard  to  see  why  them  2 
got  marrid.  They  wanted  to  see  how  I  was  &  to 
borro  som  things.  Ed  has  got  a  sqwint  in  one  eye 
&  I  gues  that  is  why  he  got  fooled.  Ed  &  her  are 
both  red  hedded  &  she  did  not  draw  much  when  she 

[77] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

marrid  him.  I  notis  the  temprature  remains  about 
the  same  with  litle  or  no  drop  or  rise. 

May  31st — These  are  fine  days.  S.  Conkrite  com 
doTVTi  &  I  tell  him  I  hav  4  barels  of  pike  «&  bass  that 
I  caught  &  pikeled  at  odd  times.  He  brought  som 
noos.  He  says  thare  was  timber  theves  working 
down  the  river  all  the  winter  «&  spring  &  them  logs 
that  went  out  was  all  stole.  They  was  all  cut  by 
the  theves  &  floted  down  to  the  Illinoi  when  high 
watter  com.  Next  winter  something  will  be  done 
by  the  owners  if  they  begin  again.  He  says  over 
a  thousan  logs  was  floted  out  &  partys  are  not 
knone.  Looks  som  like  rain  as  I  rite.  He  says  if 
the  theves  get  caught  they  will  be  convicted  by  the 
laws  of  both  states.  The  sherifs  hav  all  ben  given 
notis.  Almanack  predicted  May  would  be  season- 
abel  &  this  is  rite.  This  has  ben  a  remarkabel 
month. 

June  2nd — Fine  still  day  but  all  fish  biting  stoped 
when  it  thundered  in  P.M.  A  swizzel  of  rain  at 
evening. 

June  10th — All  this  month  so  far  fine  days  & 
sumery.  Eny  who  do  not  like  this  wether  should 
have  no  wether  at  all.  I  got  the  gunn  &  blowed  a 
noo  hornet  nest  in  the  tree  by  the  pump.  Will  not 
need  them.  They  are  worse  than  democrats.  I 
notis  flys  are  around. 

June  11-12-13-14-15 — All  fine  days,  Nu  thing 
hapened. 

Ju/ne  17th — On  this  day  in  1775  was  the  Batel 
of  Bunker  Hill.    Bad  day  for  England.    Fish  hav 

[78] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

bit  well.  No  wether  to  rite  down.  All  fine.  Your 
uncle  Josiah  enjoys  this.  I  must  tell  S.  Conkrite 
of  a  catt  fish  I  sene  in  the  river  today  4  ft  long. 
This  fish  was  probly  6  ft  if  he  sene  it  when  it  passed 
his  place.  It  was  slopping  in  the  shallo  watter  out 
on  the  sand  bar.  It  was  probly  astonished  at  all 
my  empty  medicin  botles  that  are  all  over  the  botom 
out  thare. 

June  27th — It  rained  catts  &  dogs  &  pitchforks 
today  &  I  fore  saw  this  in  the  wether  breeding 
cloudds  of  last  nite.  A  hooting  owl  was  around 
but  too  dark  to  bust  him.  Joseph  Smith  the  Mormon 
Prophet  murdered  in  the  almanack  today  in  1844. 
Som  wife  troubel  probly. 

June  30th — Good  month  all  through.  Potattoes 
begin  to  carry  buggs.  Must  brush  them  off.  June 
is  a  bugg  month.  Gardin  fine  if  the  woodchucks 
would  keap  out.  Shot  severil  &  will  shoot  these 
rite  along.  Must  get  them  off  the  iland  !&  the 
skunks  too.  You  Bet.  Coppery  looking  sunsett 
tonite. 

Jvly  2nd — Geting  hot  wether.  I  do  not  kno  whare 
all  the  potattoe  buggs  are  from.  Thare  must  be  a 
big  bugg  town  somwhare  that  they  all  hale  from. 
We  need  som  rain.    The  moon  is  now  full. 

July  4th — This  is  the  Nation 's  birth  day  but  thare 
are  too  meney  forriners.  J.  Podnutt  S.  Conkrite 
&  Amos  Horner  Ed  Baxter  &  Peleg  S.  Mason  all 
com  down.  I  think  Podnutt  is  a  forriner.  Thares 
lots  of  miskitos  now  &  they  bit  well  in  the  shade  & 
plenty  of  flys.    These  men  all  say  it  has  never  ben 

[79] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

so  dry.  Thares  no  waiter  up  the  byous  &  the 
marsh  is  drying  out.  Conkrite  says  thare  are  big 
fish  left  swiming  in  puddels  back  in  the  woods  whare 
the  waiter  went  down  &  left  them  in  April  &  he 
says  pike  &  bass  as  long  as  your  arm  are  thare. 
I  tell  him  he  beter  drop  some  salt  in  them  puddels. 
Tally  1  for  old  Josiah.  Sam  Green  &  a  man  named 
Wasson  com  in  the  P.M.  to  see  if  thare  was  eny 
hay  around.  Wasson  I  think  is  a  forriner.  On  Jan 
5th  1828  it  says  in  the  almanack  the  Turks  banished 
all  forriners  from  their  empire.  Thare  was  too 
meney  thare  like  thare  is  heare.  Green  says  catel 
not  geting  filled  on  grass  yet  can  live.  When  my 
tobaco  was  gone  these  men  all  left  in  boats.  They 
went  home  by  bugg  lite  at  nite.  Such  a  pack  of 
lies  hav  never  ben  told  as  today.  I  think  Wasson 
should  cut  som  whiskers  this  fall.  It  is  prety  hot 
as  I  rite  &  thare  is  too  much  tumoil  &  visiting  & 
too  much  going  on  heare  &  thare.  Thares  too  much 
passing  to  &  fro.  Thares  too  meney  flys  &  thares 
too  dam  meney  pepil.  God  bless  all  departing  trav- 
elors.    I  rite  this  on  the  5th. 

July  11th — It  has  never  ben  hotter  even  in  the 
shade.  Hamilton  &  Burr  had  a  duel  this  day  in 
1804.  Burr  was  a  good  shot  but  a  bad  man.  For 
a  week  it  has  ben  to  hot  to  rite  in  my  wether  book. 
&>  the  nites  are  sticky. 

July  12th — ^We  are  having  a  bad  dry  spell  &  I 
fore  saw  this  erly  in  the  month.  Only  1  lite  spurt 
of  rain  sence  erly  June.  I  stay  in  the  shade  for  I 
do  not  want  eny  body  to  get  sun  struck.    This  is  a 

[80] 


THE  ''WETHEK  BOOK" 

big  miskito  month  &  they  are  at  it  constant.  Eny 
body  that  wants  miskitos  &  natts  can  get  them  rite 
heare.  Take  notis.  This  is  the  place  &  dog  days 
is  the  time. 

July  13 — Hottest  we  ever  had.  At  Nantuckett 
rite  close  to  the  watter  300  bildings  burnt  today  in 
1846.  Took  fire  from  the  sun  probly.  A  big  snap- 
ping turkel  was  around  the  pump  today.  Maybe  he 
was  chased  out  of  the  river  by  the  heat. 

July  15th — My  almanack  says  Jeruselum  was 
taken  today  in  1029.  It  is  probly  hot  thare  now. 
If  the  almanack  would  go  as  far  foreds  as  it  goes 
back  it  would  be  a  valubel  record.  It  says  also  W. 
Penn  died  in  1718  on  the  20th.  I  keep  my  almanack 
heare  with  me  in  the  shade.  Penn  was  a  grate  man. 
I  com  from  his  state.  It  has  never  ben  so  hot  as 
sence  the  10th.  Your  uncle  Josiah  has  got  the 
thermomter  on  the  tree  by  the  pump  now  to  cool 
it  som. 

July  16-17-18-19-20 — When  it  is  hot  I  sett  genraly 
out  of  the  sun  &  smoak.  That  old  yellow  pipe  is 
prety  hot  &  it  works  all  day.  This  has  ben  going 
on  for  a  week  now.  You  can  lite  a  match  by  stick- 
ing it  in  the  river  now  if  you  want  to.  It  is  sissing 
hot.  You  can  cook  eny  thing  by  setting  it  out  doors. 
No  frost  in  the  air  now.  You  Bet.  I  wattered  all 
gardin  sass  from  the  river  with  a  buckett  at  evening 
&  all  grows  well,  but  some  probly  cooked.  The  mer- 
kery  will  hav  to  climb  the  tree  if  this  keaps  up. 

July  31st — Too  hot  to  rite  in  wether  book.  Still 
dry.    I  mostly  stay  down  by  the  pump  «&  the  flys 

[81] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

like  this.  I  slep  out  on  the  grass  sence  the  15th  & 
the  miskitos  liked  that.  This  has  ben  a  remarkabel 
month. 

Aug.  1st — In  August  on  the  1st  in  1798  was  the 
Batel  of  the  Nile  so  my  almanack  says.  Must  have 
ben  hot  out  on  the  watter  in  Egipt  at  that  time. 
Meteors  which  are  bals  of  fire  in  the  sky  are  pre- 
dicted for  August.  They  should  begin  dropping 
soon  &  your  uncle  Josiah  will  keap  his  eye  open. 
It  is  so  dry  now  that  Ed  Baxter  says  the  mushrats 
hav  all  left  the  marsh  &  they  are  all  going  out  round 
the  country  for  watter  to  qwench  their  thirst.  He 
says  thare  are  cases  whare  they  went  to  wells  & 
fell  in  &  1  com  to  the  watter  buckett  in  his  house. 
Bad  sumer  for  rats.  A  good  catt  nap  in  the  shade 
is  a  fine  thing  now. 

Aug.  2nd — This  is  Monday  &  I  have  stade  in  the 
shade  now  sence  this  thing  commenced.  This  wether 
will  probly  blister  the  buggs  off  the  potattoes.  They 
wont  get  off  no  other  way  until  it  gets  cool  if  they 
are  waiting  for  your  uncle  to  brush  them.  Every- 
thing well  het  up.  Lots  of  smoak.  Big  fire  in  the 
woods  somwhare  I  bet. 

Aug.  5th — Nuthing  ritten  now  sence  the  2nd. 
Thare  is  thunder  off  in  the  west  tonite  &  she  is  com- 
ing up.  Som  wind  &  all  sines  say  a  soking  storm 
of  rain. 

Aug.  7th — Raining  hevy  as  I  rite.  Rained  all  nite 
long  &  yesterdy.  Must  patch  the  roof  som.  Had  to 
put  a  buckett  under  a  leak  last  nite.    Good  thing 

[82] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

I  got  plenty  of  bucketts.  Litening  struck  all  around 
in  woods  hard  all  nite. 

August  9th — Awful  rains  sence  the  nite  of  the 
5th.  We  are  geting  too  much  rain.  Seems  like 
something  has  busted  up  above  and  all  thare  is  is 
coming  down.  Som  should  be  saved  up  &  sprinkeled 
along  the  rest  of  the  calender.  What  is  the  use  of 
all  this.  This  is  a  very  wet  time.  Thare  are  no 
flodes  predicted  for  this  time  of  the  yeare.  I  must 
read  the  bible  som  if  this  keaps  up  &  bild  an  ark. 
This  is  a  grate  lesson  to  us  all.  In  1812  on  this 
date  a  caravan  of  2000  Turks  from  Mecca  was  de- 
stroyed in  the  Desert  by  lack  of  watter.  I  bet  they 
wished  they  had  som  of  this.  Too  bad  all  the  Turks 
were  not  thare.  All  Turks  are  wicked  men  &  it  says 
som  whare  in  the  bible  that  they  shall  have  their 
part  in  Hell  Fire.  Hell  Fire  &  Turks  will  mix  well. 
The  litening  was  after  your  uncle  again  last  nite. 

August  10th — Clearing  now  with  som  wind  & 
again  warm.  Looks  wet  in  the  west.  Thares  watter 
enough  to  swim  the  young  ducks  around  now  all 
rite  &  plenty  of  it  for  eny  body  that  wants  it.  My 
potattoe  buggs  all  floted  away.  This  shows  that 
trubels  of  all  kinds  will  quit  som  time  if  you  wait  & 
do  nuthing.  You  could  swim  all  over  the  country 
now.  Ed  Baxter  &  S.  Conkrite  com  in  a  boat  today 
to  see  how  I  was  &  if  I  was  still  above  watter  &  to 
borro  tobaco  &  cowcumbers.  When  eny  body  coms 
around  it  is  always  somthing  for  them.  They  both 
say  They  never  sene  so  meney  snakes  around  as  this 
yearc.    Ed  Says  he  killed  4  rattlers  &  Conkrite  says 

[83] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

he  got  6.  These  men  will  hoth  see  more  snakes  next 
year  than  they  did  this  if  they  do  not  quit.  Conk- 
rite's  biggest  snake  was  5  ft  with  6  ratles.  I  showed 
them  a  skin  I  took  off  of  6  ft  with  9  ratles  &  they  lit 
som  more  of  my  tobaco  &  told  of  erly  days.  I  notis 
they  all  get  into  the  trees  when  your  uncle  Josiah 
comences  to  talk.  His  feet  are  mates  &  he  drinks 
nuthing  but  pump  watter.  Snakes  do  not  com 
around  him  much  but  when  they  do  they  are  "Whop- 
pers.   Drizzeled  som  at  nite. 

Aug.  15 — It  is  hot  again  &  the  Old  Bull  Eye  now 
glares  stedy  on  the  crops.  Thare  was  a  pop  corn 
sky  last  nite.  No  cloudds  today.  Full  bugg  lite  at 
nite. 

Aug.  21st — Thare  com  up  a  hale  storm  today  that 
was  over  in  5  minits  with  hale  stones  big  as  pidgun 
eggs  &  a  strong  wind  that  would  blow  bark  off  a 
bass  wood.  I  do  not  kno  whare  it  com  from.  Som- 
thing  must  hav  hapened  up  above  to  do  all  this. 
Hale  turned  to  rain  &  it  drizzels  as  I  rite.  Meney 
litle  ded  todes  &  froggs  are  all  over  the  iland  whare 
they  probly  rained  down.  Maybe  fish  &  small  live 
stock  will  com  next. 

Aug.  22nd — Cleared  off  all  rite  but  cloudds  in  the 
north  look  like  wether  breeders  tonite  &  it  is  a 
mackral  sky  all  over.  Ed  Baxter  &  Conkrite  com 
today  in  a  boat  that  looks  like  the  one  that  got  loose 
&  floted  off  away  from  my  place  3  years  ago.  It 
is  now  painted  up  &  the  ores  changed.  They  com 
to  see  how  I  was  &  to  borro  som  big  fish  hooks  for 
their  sett  lines.    I  tell  them  to  use  an  axe  for  big 

[84] 


THE  ^'WETHER  BOOK" 

fish  sanje  as  I  do.  Could  not  find  eny  hooks  after 
I  sene  that  boat.  My  eye  sight  got  bad.  The  old 
man's  mind  is  foggy.    He  does  not  kno  how  to  do. 

Aug.  31st — Your  uncle  Josiah  went  down  to  the 
marsh  yesterdy  to  see  how  mushrats  are.  They 
sumered  well.  Young  ones  are  thick  &  well  grown 
&  geting  lots  of  clams.  Meney  wood  ducks  around 
&  the  ducks  hatched  in  the  marsh  all  are  flying 
well.  Cloudded  up  at  nite  &  had  a  dark  time  geting 
back.  The  moon  was  around  but  it  was  so  dark  a 
cat  could  find  nuthing.  Thares  an  awful  lot  of  new 
thick  grass  in  the  marsh.  I  do  not  like  watter  with 
so  much  whiskers  on  it.  This  has  ben  a  quere  month 
&  thermomter  has  jumped  around  a  good  dele.  This 
has  ben  a  remarkabel  month. 

Sept.  1st — The  meteors  in  my  almanack  did  not 
fall  in  August  &  predictions  not  reliabel.  Nuthing 
of  the  kind  around.  It  is  geting  along  toreds  fall. 
Pidguns  are  around.  They  broke  som  ded  lims  on 
the  iland  this  week  whare  they  roosted.  Thares 
slews  of  them.  This  is  a  good  yeare  for  pidguns. 
I  got  33  with  2  shots.  They  did  not  kno  that  your 
uncle  Josiah  was  around  with  a  gunn.  I  notis  in 
my  almanack  Oisters  are  now  in  season.  Nuthing 
of  the  kind  around  heare. 

Sept.  4th — Soon  after  sunup  it  looked  like  streky 
black  cloudds  up  above  but  it  was  pidgun  flocks  com- 
ing south.  Pidguns  are  all  over  now.  Big  droves 
roosted  around  last  nite.  I  must  salt  down  som. 
They  are  in  the  woods  after  the  young  akerns. 

[85] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

Pidgniis  still  going  over.  Cant  tell  if  it  is  clouddy. 
Warm  day  thow. 

Sept.  10th — Must  get  a  houn  pupp.  Old  Tike 
is  gating  wobblie  in  the  nose  &  he  looses  his  nose 
now  &  then.  He  is  sick  som  &  not  lively.  He  is  a 
good  dog  but  he  has  erned  his  money.  He  is  now 
going  on  13  yeares  &  has  ben  over  the  country  som 
sence  I  had  him.  S.  Conkrite  had  some  pupps  last 
week  «&  I  must  go  up.  They  may  be  all  spoken  for 
thow.  Must  get  som  supplys  &  som  backake  oint- 
mint.  Hell  I  broke  my  pipe.  Wether  breeding 
clouds  in  the  west  tonite  as  I  rite. 

Sept  12tJi — A  sorel  mare  was  stolen  by  2  men  & 
a  buggy  Tuesday  nite  from  Ed  Baxter  who  had  just 
bote  the  mare.  They  caught  these  men  over  18 
miles  off  on  the  Hickery  Top  Road  &  they  are  now 
locked  in  jale.  He  was  down  at  evening  to  see  how 
I  was  &  to  get  some  eggs.  The  sherif  &  a  possy  was 
what  nabbed  the  theves.  I  hear  from  Ed  that  Henry 
Clay  died  last  June  &  that  a  chese  facktory  &  brick 
kill  are  to  be  bilt  neare  West  Crick.  I  fore  see  a 
church  next.  This  country  is  geting  too  much  setled 
up.  Thares  too  dam  meney  pepil.  It  rained  som 
today  but  cleared  at  noon.  Ed  had  a  lot  of  noos. 
He  went  off  home  by  bugg  lite  about  9.  He  kep  me 
up.    I  rite  this  on  the  13th. 

Sept.  14 — A  wolf  has  ben  on  this  iland  frequent 
&  has  ben  after  chickins  &  eny  thing  he  can  get.  I 
set  a  trapp  &  he  turned  it  over  &  got  the  bate  evry 
time.  Last  nite  I  set  it  botom  sid  up  &  he  turned 
it  over  &  I  got  that  cuss.    He  did  not  kno  the  trapp 

[86] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

was  botom  upwards  &  he  was  astonished.  You  can 
not  fool  much  with  your  uncle  Josiah.  Som  drizzel 
in  the  air  tonite  &  som  colder.  It  is  geting  into  fall 
all  rite.  I  kno  whare  2  bee  trees  are.  Your  uncle 
has  them  spotted.  Thare  will  be  honey  heare  in 
about  a  week.    You  Bet. 

^  Sept.  mh^The  merkery  took  a  sudden  jump  & 
it  is  hot  as  July  &  August.  I  slep  out  on  the  grass 
last  nite.  A  good  mush  mellin  in  the  shade  is  a  fine 
thing  now.  Conkrite  &  Baxter  com  yesterdy  when 
I  was  not  within  &  left  a  buckett  they  borowed  Sat- 
urday to  take  down  the  river.  I  must  put  a  date 
on  that  for  its  the  first  thing  they  ever  brought 
back. 

Sept.  20tlir~l  got  a  cubb  bear  that  was  1-2  in  & 
1-2  out  of  a  bee  tree  after  honey  &  got  him  home 
well  chained  with  a  colar.  I  got  about  60  lbs  honey. 
This  was  yesterdy  &  the  day  befoar.  The  animil 
eats  well  &  acts  tame  but  scared.  I  name  him  Jim 
Crow. 

Sept.  21st~B.  Conkrite  &  Ed  Baxter  &  Wife  com 
today  to  see  how  I  was  &  to  see  if  I  got  eny  honey 
yet.  They  are  rite  on  skedule.  Also  they  wanted 
to  borro  som  small  shot  &  to  get  som  fouls.  Ed's 
wife  made  beleve  she  was  scared  of  the  bear 
Probly  so  Ed  would  save  her  from  it.  Conkrite  says 
he  got  a  wild  catt  over  to  the  swamp  that  was  37 
inches  tip  to  tip.  I  got  one  40  inches  last  winter 
that  I  spoke  nuthing  of.  Mine  was  a  feerce  animil 
Conkrite  blows  a  good  dele.  The  pupp  I  got  from 
Conkrite  houls  all  the  time  &  has  et  his  hed  off  up 

[87] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

to  date.  Jim  Crow  got  a  peice  of  the  pupp  yesterdy 
when  he  got  neare.  The  pupp  tried  to  bite  Conkrite 
&  I  think  this  shows  he  was  treated  bad  at  home. 
I  asked  Conkrite  about  pork  for  winter  pikel  but 
he  semes  to  think  my  place  is  whare  money  dripps 
off  the  roof  &  shakes  out  of  the  trees.  At  killing 
time  it  will  be  diferent.  Ed  Baxter  says  he  has 
dug  a  deeper  well.  His  other  he  says  is  full  of 
mushrats  that  com  for  watter  in  dry  spell  in  July 
to  qwench  their  thirst  &  now  living  thare.  I  tell 
him  to  sett  &  fish  for  them  with  a  pole.  It  is  now 
8  P.M.  &  your  uncle  is  reddy  for  his  blankett. 

Sept.  25th — I  went  after  supplys.  Old  Josiah  now 
has  plenty  of  evrything.  Thare  is  Backake  Remedy 
Foot  Ointmint  Magick  oil  for  Stif  Joints  &  Pain 
Killer  &  2  kinds  of  Bitters  &  Sistom  Tonick  &  pills 
both  blue  &  pink.  I  got  Condition  Powders  for 
chickins  if  sick.  I  got  som  tobaco  black  as  Egipt 
for  those  who  com  to  borro.  It  is  strong  enough 
so  you  can  pull  nales  with  it.  I  got  all  they  had 
and  some  candels.  Jim  Crow  is  well  &  he  likes  all 
swete  things.  I  got  Jim  som  stripped  candy  3  sticks. 
The  Pacific  Ocean  was  discovered  in  1513  by  my 
almanack  on  this  day.  Funy  they  missed  it  bef  oar. 
When  I  com  by  Ed  Baxter's  place  last  nite  the  boat 
that  used  to  be  mine  got  loose  &  com  along  down 
with  me.  I  find  certain  marks  on  it  that  I  will  show 
Ed.  I  reckonize  my  own  boat  &  it  now  seeks  its 
home.  A  drizzel  of  mosture  as  I  rite.  I  tended  to 
a  lot  of  bisness  today.  Conkrite  says  the  Sistom 
Tonick  I  ben  buying  is  loaded  but  does  not  say  what 

[88] 


THE  '' WETHER  BOOK" 

with.  He  says  mix  a  lot  of  pump  watter  with  it  & 
not  take  to  much  or  darkness  will  com. 

Sept.  28th — The  wether  stays  moist.  Today  in 
1828  in  the  almanack  the  sultan  proceeds  to  the 
Turkish  Camp  with  the  sacred  standard.  Probly 
stole  from  som  whare. 

Sept.  29th — These  cold  stormy  drizzels  may  bring 
in  a  few  ducks.  Would  like  som  ducks.  Moon  full 
last  nite  but  not  sene. 

Oct.  1st — Sept.  was  a  quere  month  without  much 
wether  ether  way.  Oct.  now  opens  clear  with  frost 
that  nipped  the  vines  last  nite.  Had  the  pupp  out 
for  a  run  on  rabbitts.  His  nose  is  good  &  he  may 
learn.  I  never  sene  a  good  dog  that  com  from  S. 
Conkrite's  yet.  Was  down  to  the  marsh  yesterdy 
&  meney  noo  rat  houses.  They  are  bilding  thick  & 
high  &  this  menes  a  hard  winter  &  high  watter  in 
the  spring.  All  sines  say  a  hard  winter.  Snipe  are 
skitting  around  &  thare  is  a  lot  of  mudd  hens  & 
loons  in  the  marsh.  2  deer  swum  the  marsh  &  dove 
into  the  timber.  They  kno  when  Old  Josiah  has 
got  a  gunn  &  when  he  left  it  home.  Sam  Green  & 
his  friend  Wasson  com  in  a  boat  tonite  to  see  how 
I  was  &  to  get  som  honey.  The  pupp  bit  Wasson. 
Tally  1  for  the  pupp.  These  men  also  wanted  to 
borro  tobaco.  Gave  them  som  of  the  black.  I  tell 
them  smoaking  that  kind  makes  me  strong. 

Oct.  6th — Stormed  &  I  stade  in.  Conkrite  com 
in  the  rain  to  see  how  I  was  &  to  borro  powder  & 
see  if  I  had  eny  thing  in  my  medicins  for  boils.  He 
says  he  com  yesterdy  &  nocked  but  I  was  not  within. 

[89] 


THE  VANISHING  KIVER 

I  was  then  in  the  woods  traning  the  pupp.  His 
noos  is  Ed  Baxter  claims  he  has  2  twins  that  com 
erly  this  morning  &  I  bet  they  look  like  young  mush- 
rats.  He  spoke  of  pork  but  old  Josiah  is  keaping 
prety  still  until  after  the  snow  flys.  He  says  of 
Ed's  twins  they  are  both  boys  &  red  bedded, 
Thares  too  meney  Baxters  now.  S.  C.  Says  them  2 
twins  will  be  named  James  &  John. 

Oct.  12th — In  the  full  of  the  moon  &  on  a  frosty 
nite  your  uncle  Josiah  goes  after  coons  &  I  note  this 
down.  It  will  be  the  27th  if  nite  is  clear.  I  notis 
Columbus  landed  today  in  the  almanack  in  1492.  He 
was  the  first  of  the  f orriners. 

Oct.  18th — Nuthing  happened  sence  the  12th,  but 
last  nite  a  killing  frost  &  today  a  swizzel  of  rain 
&  sleat  with  N.W.  wind.  This  will  bring  down 
ducks  &  gese.  Stade  in  today  &  clened  up  shot  gunn 
&  rifel  &  all  trapps.  Saw  to  all  aminition.  Evry- 
thing  all  fixed  up  as  I  rite.  Put  all  potattoes  & 
vegitibels  in  sod  celer  &  evrything  all  tite  up  to 
date.  Cleared  off  som  today  &  som  ducks  are  com- 
ing &  som  gese  are  in  the  sky.  Unusual  wether  for 
Oct.  Gese  honks  all  nite  long  as  I  slep.  This  was 
last  nite.  I  got  25  lbs  tobaco  in  the  sod  celer  too. 
When  I  need  tobaco  this  winter  I  kno  whare  som  is. 

Oct.  19 — Blowing  strong  from  N.W.  Eain  & 
sleat.  Sky  all  speckeled  with  ducks  &  gese.  They 
are  coming  in  slews  now.  Gese  honk  all  nite  can 
not  sleep.  Active  wether  will  come  rite  along  now. 
No  more  lofing  for  your  uncle  Josiah.    He  gets  on 

[90] 


THE  **WETHER  BOOK" 

his  sheap  skin  coat  now.  Take  notis.  He  is  in  the 
field. 

Oct.  20-21-22-23-24-25—1  ben  busy  all  this  time. 
Josiah  is  around  with  a  gunn.  He  makes  fethers 
fly  &  he  fetches  in  the  birds.  Fine  gese  &  duck 
wether.  The  marsh  is  black  with  them  evry  morn- 
ing at  sunup.  The  Irish  Eebelion  was  on  the  23rd 
of  this  month  in  1641.  They  begun  coming  heare 
then. 

Oct.  30th — Duck  &  Gese  wether  has  stoped  & 
ingun  sumer  is  upon  us.  I  fore  saw  this.  They 
are  around  som  whare  but  shooting  is  poor.  No 
duck  &  gese  wether  for  a  while  yet.  I  stoped  at  S. 
Conkrite's.  I  got  to  hav  pork,  but  he  said  nuthing 
of  pork  &  neither  did  your  uncle  Josiah.  He  has 
9  squeeling  around  all  fat  in  good  condition. 

Oct.  31st — This  has  ben  a  remarkabel  month  & 
changabel  at  times  as  almanack  predicted.  Jim 
Crow  is  well.  He  has  et  well.  I  see  hevy  bunches 
of  cloudds  in  west  that  I  fore  see  will  breed  duck 
&  gese  wether  as  I  rite.  I  notis  in  my  almanack 
that  meney  thousans  of  pepil  died  of  sickness  in 
India  at  this  time  of  the  yeare  in  1724.  Thare  is 
too  man^  pepil.  No  sickness  heare  much  at  eny 
time.  This  is  a  helthy  section  only  3  died  in  5 
yeares.    I  see  deer  are  around. 

Nov.  2nd — Althow  a  stormy  day  Ed  Baxter  com 
in  P.M.  to  see  how  I  was  &  to  get  honey  &  som 
tobaco  if  I  hed  eny.  He  told  all  the  noos  of  them  2 
twins  James  &  John  &  you  would  think  nobody  ever 
had  eny  befoar.    It  is  all  about  them  2  red  heds 

[91] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

all  the  time  how  they  et  &  how  they  are  smart  & 
how  much  they  way.  All  the  branes  in  the  country 
are  setled  in  James  &  John.  He  says  he  will  bring 
them  &  show  me.  They  must  be  som  site  &  I  will 
be  struck  blind  in  1  eye  probly.  You  would  think 
the  world  had  com  to  the  end  in  them  2  &  they  was 
Danl  Webstor.  Thare  was  an  awful  famin  in  Italy 
in  the  yeare  450  when  parents  et  their  children. 

Nov.  3rd — ^Lite  snow  bust  in  the  nite  &  I  found 
bear  traks  all  around  this  morning.  Som  friend  com 
to  see  Jim  Crow  probly.  The  pupp  now  sleeps 
with  Jim  in  the  dog  house  &  he  howld  in  the  nite. 
Som  rain  sputtering  as  I  rite. 

Nov.  4th — Roring  wind  from  the  North  today.  A 
hevy  sky  &  sleat.    I  notis  meney  duck  flocks  &  gese. 

I  will  be  busy  now  rite  along.  Must  get  a  deer. 
A  little  venzon  rite  now  would  be  fine.  Your  uncle 
Josiah  has  apitite  for  som. 

Nov.  6th — Got  a  buck  rite  on  the  iland.  They  will 
go  poking  their  heds  in  the  window  to  get  shot  if 
I  dont  watch  out.  This  was  yesterdy.  Jim  Crow 
is  loose  now  &  spends  time  mostly  on  the  roof  & 
up  the  Cottonwood.  He  was  in  the  chickins  Tuesday 
nite  &  today  he  was  in  the  house  &  upsett  things. 
Might  as  well  be  a  horse  loose  in  the  house.  Must 
put  him  back  on  chain.  If  you  want  to  keap  busy 
you  want  to  keap  a  bear.  He  is  a  quere  cuss  & 
probly  smells  the  honey.  She  still  blows  &  tomorro 
I  go  for  ducks.  Wish  I  had  all  the  lead  I  spattered 
around  on  that  marsh  in  my  time.  Must  have  raised 
the  watter  som. 

[92] 


THE  '' WETHER  BOOK" 

Nov.  7-8-9-10-11-12 — ^Was  on  the  marsh  all  these 
days  &  tired  at  nite.  Wether  lite  winds  &  drizzeley. 
No  finer  duck  &  gese  wether  ever  sene.  Your  uncle 
was  among  them  &  he  shook  them  loose.  I  com  in 
wet  tonite  &  must  sett  around  a  while.  I  see  traks 
showing  sombody  has  ben  heare.  Probly  Conkrite 
or  Ed  Baxter  to  see  how  I  was  &  to  borro  somthing 
&  tell  me  of  them  2  twins.  Must  wrap  up  in  my 
blankett  &  take  som  strong  medicin.  I  got  a  cold 
&  I  got  wether  pains.  Will  stay  in  &  rite  in  my 
wether  book.  On  Nov.  9th  in  1837  the  queue  of 
England  dined  at  Guildhall.     Good  meal  probly. 

Nov.  13 — ^When  your  uncle  Josiah  takes  medicin 
he  doses  up.  I  took  4  kinds  today  &  kep  my  feet 
hot  with  my  watter  jug.  I  got  a  good  fire.  Storms 
hevy  outside  but  that  does  not  hurt  me  eny.  I  read 
all  it  says  on  all  my  medicin  botles  &  I  can  get 
nuthing  they  will  not  cure.  I  got  Jim  Crow  &  the 
pupj)  in  the  house  for  company  now.  They  sleep 
mostly.  When  they  awake  they  make  troubel.  I 
fore  see  that  these  animils  must  be  put  out. 

Nov.  14th — Somthing  I  took  yesterdy  or  last  nite 
has  helped  som.  I  slep  well.  Probly  it  was  1  of 
the  bitters.  Snow  prevales  outside  &  she  falls  hevy 
as  I  rite.  I  put  Jim  &  the  pupp  out.  Thare  was 
too  meney  in  the  house.  Jim  has  got  honey  coam 
&  the  pupp  has  got  bones  in  the  dog  house  so  they 
are  hapy.  Nobody  could  want  more  than  that  unless 
they  are  crazy  about  money. 

Nov.  15-16-17 — I  stade  within  mostly  on  these 
days.  We  are  having  a  spell  of  wether.    My  bitters 

[93] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

&  my  Sistom  Tonick  are  most  gone  but  I  still  got 
plenty  of  2  kinds  that  I  take  internal  &  3  kinds  to 
rub  on.  Wolves  howl  around  a  good  dele  at  nite. 
I  keap  my  sasafras  tea  het  up  rite  along  but  the 
bitters  do  most  of  the  work.  They  are  strong  stuff 
&  have  som  get  app  to  them.  Sky  is  full  of  ducks 
&  gese  do  a  lot  of  honking  over  the  house.  Probly 
to  twitch  me  while  I  cant  get  out.  Your  uncle  feals 
som  beter  but  he  is  wise.  He  will  not  go  out  too 
soon.  It  would  be  beter  for  som  body  to  go  that 
would  not  be  so  much  loss. 

Nov.  18 — S.  Conkrite  com  today  to  see  how  I  was 
&  wanted  to  trade  me  a  nice  fat  hogg  for  Jim  Crow 
&  I  done  this.  Jim  is  geting  a  litle  sassy  &  Conk- 
rite's  will  be  a  good  place  for  him.  Will  now  hav 
pork  to  put  in  pikel  &  to  smoak.  He  is  to  kill  the 
pork  &  bring  it  &  after  that  is  to  take  Jim  home. 
I  fore  see  that  Jim  will  make  troubel.  I  am  up  & 
around  all  rite  now.  Must  go  after  supplys  of 
bitters  &  Sistom  Tonick  soon  &  I  must  get  a  chese. 
A  smitch  of  chese  helps  out  a  meal.  Looks  wethery 
tonite  &  snow  probabel. 

Nov.  19th — S.  Conkrite  com  today  with  the  pork 
&  it  is  good  pork.  We  fixed  a  crate  to  put  Jim  Crow 
in  &  he  made  a  lot  of  fuss.  Them  2  looked  funy 
going  off  in  the  boat.  Cold  &  freezing  som  &  ducks 
&  gese  have  lit  out.  Thare  are  deer  around  thow. 
I  made  soft  soap  today. 

Nov.  20th — Ed  Baxter  com  in  P.M.  to  see  how  I 
was  &  to  hang  som  meat  in  my  smoak  house.  When 
he  sene  the  soft  soap  he  wanted  to  borro  som. 

[94] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

Probly  to  wash  them  red  hedded  twins.  S.  Conk- 
rite  also  com  at  evening  &  Sam  Green  &  Wasson 
all  with  pork  to  smoak.  I  got  lots  of  friends.  My 
pork  must  pikel  a  while  befoar  it  smoaks  but  I  got 
to  fire  up  the  smoak  house  now  for  these  men's 
pork.  They  all  like  this  because  its  something  for 
them.  Ed  told  a  lot  about  them  twins.  Thare  has 
never  ben  such  twins.  Conkrite's  noos  is  Jim  Crow 
got  away.  The  traks  stade  around  the  chickins  a 
while  &  then  went  to  the  woods  whare  fethers  were 
found.  Lite  sift  of  snow  to  nite.  The  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  was  doubled  in  the  almanack  today  in 
1497.     Quere  they  wanted  2  capes  thare. 

Nov.  21st — Jim  Crow  was  up  the  cottonwood  this 
morning  when  I  went  out.  Him  &  the  pupp  are  now 
in  the  dog  house.  Conkrite  will  probly  com  after 
Jim.    She  snows  &  blows  hevy  as  I  rite. 

Nov.  23rd — My  smoak  house  is  well  knone.  Pete 
Quagno  &  2  other  inguns  com  today  to  see  about 
puting  things  in  it  but  I  tell  them  I  want  to  kno 
what  they  are.  They  say  all  sines  show  a  hard 
winter  coming.  No  danger  of  them  inguns  stealing 
my  soft  soap.  Your  uncle  Josiah  is  now  all  well 
&  feals  fine.  He  was  all  over  the  iland  today.  He 
could  pull  up  a  tree  or  kick  the  chimbly  off  the  house 
if  it  had  to  be.  I  notis  too  meney  small  animil 
tracks  on  the  iland  &  I  will  now  tend  to  these.  The 
pupp  is  fine  &  he  now  goes  with  me.  Lite  snow 
last  nite  &  I  see  a  wild  catt  has  ben  across  and  I 
would  like  to  get  his  fur. 

Nov.  25th — Yesterdy  I  stade  within  with  my  med- 

[95] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

icins  as  I  did  not  feal  so  well.  I  got  a  stummick 
misry.  Conkrite  was  down  &  took  Jim  Crow  back 
today.  I  do  not  think  Jim  likes  Conkrite.  He  tried 
to  get  a  peice  out  of  Conkrite  when  they  was  in  the 
boat.  Me  &  Jim  always  got  along  all  rite^  Snow 
is  faling. 

Nov.  26-27-28 — Snows  all  the  time  now.  She  dont 
know  when  to  quit.  My  almanack  says  G.  Washing- 
ton crossed  the  deleware  Nov.  28th.  It  missed  say- 
ing what  yeare  but  he  got  whare  he  wanted  to  go. 
Moon  was  full  on  the  26th  but  not  sene. 

Nov.  29th — S.  Conkrite  com  with  som  meat  to 
smoak  today  &  it  looks  like  bear  meat.  I  fear  Jim 
Crow  is  now  in  the  smoak  house.  That  man  knos 
nuthing  of  how  to  keap  pets.  I  was  off  in  the 
woods  when  Conkrite  com  but  I  kno  it  is  Jim  all 
rite.  He  was  a  fine  bear  &  affecksionet.  I  wish 
Conkrite  had  his  dam  pork  back  &  I  had  Jim  Crow. 

Nov.  30th — That  meat  is  not  Jim  at  all  for  Jim 
is  back  &  up  the  cottonwood  this  morning.  He  did 
not  want  to  com  down  but  him  &  the  pupp  are  in 
the  dog  house  as  I  rite.  Jim  likes  it  around  heare. 
Mackarel  sky  tonite  &  changing  wether  probabel. 
Nov.  a  remarkabel  month  all  through. 

Dec.  1-2-3-4-5-6 — I  ben  f  ealing  porly  now  som  time 
with  the  misry  in  my  stummick.  Tried  som  of  all 
my  internal  medicins  &  feal  som  beter  today.  Hav 
rubbed  my  Rumatiziam  with  Pain  Killer  &  took 
pills  both  blue  &  pink  that  are  for  liver  complaint. 
Poor  old  Tike  was  sick  too.  I  gave  him  the  box 
of  condition  powders  I  got  in  the  fall  for  the  chickins 

[96] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

but  he  quit  that  nite.  This  was  on  Saturday  the 
4th.  The  powders  may  not  hav  kep  well  or  maybe 
not  good  for  a  dog.  I  lost  my  best  friend.  Bad 
wether  now.  I  think  animils  should  have  no  med- 
icin  at  all  of  eny  kind. 

Dec.  7th — Ed  Baxter  com  today  to  see  how  I  was 
&  to  get  his  smoaked  pork.  I  promis  to  take  Christ- 
mas diner  with  Ed  &  Wife.  I  must  take  presents 
for  James  &  John.  Likely  a  buckett  of  soft  soap 
will  be  good  for  them  2.    Looks  gusty  &  snowy  tonite. 

Dec.  8th — S.  Conkrite  &  Green  &  his  friend  Was- 
son  all  com  to  see  how  I  was  today  &  get  their 
smoaked  stuff.  Conkrite  says  would  like  me  to 
keap  Jim  Crow  a  while  longer  for  he  is  too  meney 
up  to  his  place.  This  I  will  do  for  Jim  &  me  get 
along  fine.  Jim  went  up  the  Cottonwood  when  he 
sene  Conkrite.  Thares  too  meney  smoak  houses 
on  this  iland  &  too  much  smoaking  going  on  for 
other  pepil.  Snow  storm  slanting  from  the  north 
west  &  drifting  som  as  I  rite.  I  fore  saw  this  last 
nite.  I  think  Conkrite  is  the  one  that  is  too  meney 
up  to  his  place  instid  of  Jim  Crow.  I  got  wether 
pains  in  both  back  &  legs  now. 

Dec.  9th — Now  she  snows.  Big  drifts.  Can  not 
see  dog  house  from  window.  I  now  got  Jim  Crow 
&  the  pupp  in  the  house.  My  wether  pains  som 
worse.    Must  stay  in  my  blankett. 

Dec.  10th — A  soft  thaw  has  come  on  sudden.  A 
warm  sun  prevales  &  evrything  all  slushy.  Good 
wether  for  wet  feet.    Your  uncle  still  stays  within. 

Dec.  12th — Both  S.  Conkrite  &  Ed  Baxter  com 

[97] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEB 

today  &  brought  me  a  new  almanack  for  next  yeare. 
This  is  the  first  time  they  ever  com  that  it  was  not 
somthing  for  them.  They  said  I  don  litle  favers  for 
them  &  they  would  like  to  make  me  this  litle  present. 
This  all  shows  that  if  you  keap  being  good  to  pepil 
all  your  life  some  day  they  will  bring  you  a  nice 
litle  almanack.  Probly  they  will  want  somthing  next 
trip.  I  gave  them  som  Sistom  Tonick  &  they  liked 
that.  Ed  Spoke  of  them  2  twins  &  they  are  both 
well  &  awful  smart.  He  asked  if  my  smoak  house 
was  still  in  good  working  order  &  if  my  hens  ben  lay- 
ing well  lately  &  if  I  had  plenty  of  potattoes  on 
hand. 

Dec.  13th — Them  2  inguns  that  come  heare  last 
with  Pete  Quagno  &  his  squa  com  today  &  their 
noos  is  that  Pete  &  his  squa  are  both  sick  &  wanted 
tobaco.  I  sent  Pete  2  pink  pills.  Them  2  inguns 
wanted  me  to  send  Pete  &  his  squa  a  big  lot  of 
tobaco  by  them  but  they  did  not  know  that  your 
uncle  Josiah  was  setting  around  smoaking  befoar 
any  of  them  was  bom. 

Dec.  14th — Last  nite  I  read  in  my  noo  almanack. 
I  notis  it  predicts  worse  wether  for  next  yeare. 
Storms  &  Tempests  will  prevale  with  intense  frosts 
probabel  at  times,  but  thare  will  be  much  changabel 
wether  &  meney  meteors  that  will  betoken  war. 
Thare  will  be  awful  winds  on  Parts  of  the  Earth. 
In  the  back  are  som  Prophesies  made  by  the  Seventh 
Son,  which  I  copy  down.  He  says  thare  will  be  wars 
and  rumours  of  wars  &  Turbulence  &  Teror  will 
apear  on  evry  hand  &  cloudds  of  darkest  hue  will 

[98] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK*' 

hang  over  the  World  in  the  East.  Fires  will  abonnd 
&  Tumults  &  Bloodshed  &  Plots  &  Uprores  in  som 
Nations.  Subject  Pepils  will  turn  &  bite  the  hoof 
that  holds  them  down.  A  certain  Luckless  King 
may  loose  his  hed  &  something  may  hapen  to  the 
Pope.  Armed  Men  may  march  to  &  fro  &  meney  will 
be  smitten  to  the  Dust.  Blood  will  be  shed  in  Ire- 
land. Tyrants  will  shake  their  Rods  &  the  Torch 
of  Discord  will  be  hurled  in  Crimea.  The  Couch  of 
Mortality  will  be  spred  &  meney  pepil  will  die  dur- 
ing the  yeare.  Low  Moans  of  the  Oppressed  will 
be  heard  in  Italy.  It  is  all  bad  noos  in  the  almanack 
for  next  yeare.  The  7th  Son  predicts  that  Flocks 
of  Boobies  will  assale  the  TRUTHS  OF  PROPH- 
ESY. He  predicts  no  troubels  for  eny  whare  around 
here.    Your  uncle  Josiah  is  in  out  of  the  wet. 

Dec.  15th — Sam  Green  com  &  says  his  friend  Was- 
son  is  sick  &  wants  som  medicin.  I  give  him  som 
of  each  kind  but  I  ought  to  see  the  simptoms.  Was- 
son  does  not  kno  what  ales  him  but  my  medicin  will 
probly  fix  him  up.  He  probly  has  stummick  com- 
plaint.   Stedy  freezing  wether  now. 

Dec.  16-17-18 — Evrything  is  froze  tite  &  so  is  the 
pump.  I  ben  out  on  trips  &  I  think  one  ear  is  froze. 
I  tended  to  a  lot  of  bisness.  I  got  supplys  &  same 
kind  of  almanack  for  next  yeare  that  I  ben  having. 
I  notis  the  predictions  in  it  are  not  half  so  bad  as 
the  one  that  was  fetched  for  the  litle  present  by 
Conkrite.  He  probly  wanted  to  scare  me  into 
the  woods.  I  notis  he  keaps  the  same  kind  I  do 
&  he  gave  me  the  other.     I  stopped  at  his  place 

[99] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEE 

today  &  I  saw  Green  &  Wasson  &  J.  Podnutt  thare. 
Wasson  got  weU.  Those  were  all  good  medicins  I 
sent.  Their  noos  is  timber  theves  are  at  it  again 
down  the  river.  Wasson  hunts  down  thare  &  he 
wants  us  all  to  form  a  possy  and  chase  them  out  of 
the  country  but  your  uncle  chases  nuthing  these  days 
he  does  not  want.  I  tell  them  the  owners  must  be 
notified.  I  do  not  know  what  them  old  mud  turkels 
talk  about  all  the  time  up  to  Conkrite's.  I  got  som 
candy  for  Jim  Crow  &  I  paid  Conkrite  for  his  pork 
at  a  low  price  &  Jim  is  now  mine  again.  Jim  is  good 
good  company  if  you  kno  how  to  get  along  with  a 
bear.  I  got  a  noo  medicin.  Instant  Eelief  for  In- 
ternal Disorders.  Will  try  on  sombody  that  coms 
to  see  how  I  am  &  to  borro  medicin.  It  looks  like  a 
good  remedy.    This  has  ben  an  active  day. 

Dec.  20 — Think  I  got  som  cold  on  my  trip  Satur- 
dy.  Am  taking  the  noo  remedy  but  do  not  yet  kno 
what  it  will  cure.  I  notis  that  2  things  that  are  on 
the  wrapper  I  am  troubeled  with.  Big  snow  storm 
now  going  on. 

Dec.  21-22-23-24 — Your  uncle  Josiah  has  felt  prety 
poorly  for  these  4  days.  Hav  taken  my  medicins 
stedy.  Think  I  am  now  beter.  Must  go  to  Baxter's 
tomorro.    Wether  clear  &  cold. 

Dec.  26th — I  took  diner  up  at  Baxter's  &  it  was  a 
good  diner.  We  had  chickin  fixings  &  cooked  appels 
&  a  grate  dele  of  other  things  &  pie  of  all  kinds.  I 
took  the  chickins  up.  We  talked  &  smoaked  &  in 
P.M.  Ed  got  his  fiddel  out  &  playd  hoppy  tunes 
on  it.    A  string  was  busted  but  he  done  weU  with 

[100] 


THE  ''WETHER  BOOK" 

the  rest.  I  got  along  fine  with  them  2  twins.  Their 
parents  hav  a  lot  of  plesure  with  them  babys.  I 
had  them  on  my  lap  &  it  took  me  back  to  when  I 
had  2  litle  boys  that  did  not  kno  beter  than  to  like 
to  be  around  with  their  pa.  I  wish  I  had  them  litle 
boys  back  now.  They  grew  up  &  went  away  probly 
looking  for  beter  friends.  It  is  lonesom  heare  on 
the  iland  with  them  &  their  mother  all  gone;  once 
in  a  while  I  find  somthing  around  they  playd  with 
&  things  their  mother  had  &  them  things  are  what 
I  got  left.  I  must  hav  the  Baxters  down  heare  next 
Chrismas  if  I  am  around.  I  will  cetch  them  twins 
some  young  rabbitts  when  they  get  old  enough  & 
som  young  mudturkels  &  pollywoggs  to  play  with 
like  I  used  to  do.  Full  moon  at  nite  on  my  way 
back  to  the  iland  &  them  2  litle  boys  was  asleep 
when  I  left. 

Dec.  27-28-29-30—1  ben  too  sick  to  rite  in  my 
wether  book. 

Bee.  31st — This  was  the  last  day  of  the  yeare  & 
whatever  hapened  is  now  all  over.  It  is  awful  cold 
&  still  outside  &  once  in  a  while  I  heare  frost  crack- 
ing in  the  woods.  The  yeare  is  now  coming  to  its 
end  in  a  few  minits.  It  is  prety  late  for  me  to  be 
around  but  I  am  waiting  for  the  old  clock  to  strike 
12.  Maybe  next  yeare  at  this  time  I  will  be  asleep. 
It  is  awful  lonesom  heare  tonite  &  I  wish  I  had  my 
folks  around  or  if  them  2  litle  boys  was  only  heare 
or  sombody.  Maybe  tomorro  Bombcdy  will  com.  I 
notis  by  the  looking  glass  that  the  old  man*  bed  is 
prety  white.  He  has  ben  frosted  som.  He  now 
goes  into  his  blankett  for  the  yeare  ends  as  he  rites. 

[101] 


V 

TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

THE  unpretentious  building  stood  just  back 
from  the  road,  near  the  end  of  "Bundy's 
Bridge."  It  was  a  lonely  looking  structure, 
for  there  were  no  near  neighbors.  Its  sustenance 
was  drawn  from  a  thinly  populated  region,  but  its 
location  made  it  easy  of  access  from  many  miles 
around. 

The  winding  thoroughfare  that  led  over  the  de- 
crepit bridge  was  an  ancient  Indian  trail  that,  like 
the  other  cherished  possessions  of  the  red  man, 
had  been  merged  into  the  economies  of  his  white 
brothers. 

The  plashing  waters  of  the  river  lulled  the  ear 
with  gentle  tumult.  They  sighed  softly  under  the 
old  bridge,  rippled  against  the  decayed  abutments 
with  a  dirge-like  rhythm,  and  spread  out  in  little 
swirls  and  scrolls  over  the  tapering  sand  bar  below. 

During  the  hot  summer  forenoons  barefooted 
boys  in  fragmentary  costume  appeared  on  the  struc- 
ture from  unknown  sources.  They  rested  long  cane 
fish  poles  along  the  side  rails,  and  watched  for  the 
corks  to  bob  that  floated  on  the  lazy  current.  They 
soon  disrobed  and  remained  naked  the  rest  of  the 
day,  making  frequent  trips  into  the  river,  where 

[105] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

they  wallowed  along  the  muddy  margin  and 
splashed  in  the  shallow  water. 

The  agile  sun  burned  bodies,  and  the  shouts  of  the 
noisy  happy  crew,  gave  a  touch  of  vibrant  life  and 
human  interest  to  the  melancholy  old  bridge. 

When  night  came  the  scant  raiment  was  gathered 
up  and  the  slender  strings  of  small  bull-heads  and 
sun-fish — a  meager  spoil  if  judged  from  a  material 
standpoint — were  carried  proudly  away  on  the  dusty 
road.  Emperors — and  particularly  one  of  them — 
might  well  envy  their  innocence  and  happiness  as 
they  faded  away  into  the  twilight. 

Lofty  elms,  big  sycamores  and  bass-woods,  inter- 
laced with  wild  grape  vines,  shaded  the  approach 
to  the  bridge,  and  fringed  the  gently  sloping  banks 
of  the  river. 

The  store  was  a  remnant  of  the  past.  When  it 
was  built,  about  sixty  years  ago,  the  location  seemed 
to  offer  alluring  prospects.  While  the  expected 
town  did  not  materialize  in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge, 
the  store  had  done  a  thriving  business,  before  the 
railroads  crossed  the  river  country,  and  after  the 
old  trail  was  graded.  Few  of  the  frequent  travelers 
along  the  road  had  failed  to  stop  and  contribute 
more  or  less  to  its  prosperity.  The  trappers  from 
up  and  down  the  river  sold  their  pelts  and  obtained 
supplies  there,  some  of  which  consisted  of  very  raw 
edged  liquor,  that  they  often  claimed  ate  holes  in 
their  stockings.  Much  of  it  had  never  enjoyed  the 
society  of  a  revenue  stamp,  but  as  stamps  affected 

[106] 


TlPTOX     POSKY 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

neither  the  flavor  or  the  hitting  quality  of  the  goods, 
nobody  ever  inquired  into  these  things. 

The  merciless  years  changed  the  fortunes  of  the 
place,  and  it  was  now  in  an  atmosphere  of  decay. 
It  was  a  gray  unpainted  two  story  affair,  with  a 
wooden  awning  over  a  broad  platform  in  front, 
along  the  outer  edge  of  which  hung  a  small  squeaky 
sign: 


TIPTON   POSEY 
GENERAL  MERCHANDISE 


It  was  the  general  loafing  place  of  the  old  musk- 
rat  trappers  and  pot  hunters — known  as  '*  river 
rats," — and  old  settlers,  whose  principal  asset  was 
spare  time,  but  everybody  for  miles  around  came 
occasionally  to  "keep  track  o'  what's  goin'  on,'* 
and  to  exchange  the  gossip  of  the  river  country. 

Posey,  the  jovial  and  philosophic  proprietor,  who 
lived  upstairs,  was  a  sympathetic  member  of  the 
motley  gatherings.  He  was  utilized  in  countless 
ways.  He  acted  as  stakeholder  and  referee  when 
bets  were  made  on  disputed  matters  of  fact,  deliv- 
ered verbal  messages,  and  always  had  the  latest 
news.  He  was  a  good  natured,  ruddy  faced  old  fel- 
low, with  an  eccentric  moustache  that  curled  in  at 
one  comer  of  his  mouth,  and  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  make  its  escape  on  the  other  side.  He  seldom 
wore  a  hat  and  his  gray  hair  stood  up  like  a  flare 
over  his  high  forehead. 

[107] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

The  confused  stock  of  goods  included  a  little  of 
everything  that  any  reasonable  human  being  would 
want  to  buy,  and  lots  of  things  that  nobody  could 
ever  have  any  sane  use  for.  Those  who  were  un- 
reasonable could  always  get  what  they  wanted  by 
waiting  a  week  or  two,  for  ' '  Tip ' '  declared  that  he 
would  draw  upon  the  resources  of  the  civilized  world 
through  the  mails,  if  necessary,  to  accommodate  his 
customers. 

Posey  was  reliable  in  everything  except  regular 
attendance.  He  "opened  store"  spasmodically  in 
the  morning,  and  closed  it  ''whenever  they  was 
nobody  'round"  at  night.  When  his  life-long  friend, 
Bill  Stiles,  was  unavailible  as  a  substitute  guardian 
he  often  locked  up  and  left  a  notice  on  the  door  in- 
dicating when  he  would  return.  I  once  found  one 
reading:  ''Gone  off — ^back  Monday."  It  was 
Wednesday  and  it  had  been  there  since  Saturday. 
Various  lead  pencil  comments  had  been  inscribed  on 
the  misleading  notice  by  facetious  visitors,  among 
them  "Liar!"  "What  Monday?"  "Sober  up!" 
"Stranger  called  to  buy  a  hundred  dollars'  worth 
of  goods  and  found  nobody  home."  "The  sheriff 
has  been  here  looking  for  you  twice,"  and  several 
other  notations  calculated  to  annoy  the  delinquent. 
Sometimes  the  notice  would  simply  read  "Gone  off," 
which,  in  connection  with  the  fact  that  the  door  was 
locked,  was  convincing  to  the  most  obtuse  observer. 
Tip  usually  found  a  fringe  of  patient  customers  and 
assorted  loiterers  sitting  along  the  edge  of  the  plat- 

[108] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

form,  discussing  the  burning  questions  of  the  day, 
"when  he  returned. 

During  the  shooting  seasons  he  spent  much  time 
on  the  marsh  down  the  river.  Orders  were  stuck 
under  the  door,  and  during  his  brief  and  uncertain 
visits  to  the  store,  he  filled  them  and  left  the  goods 
in  a  locked  wooden  box  in  the  rear,  to  which  a  few 
favored  customers  had  duplicate  keys. 

While  Tip's  affairs  were  not  conducted  on  strictly 
commercial  principles,  he  had  no  competition,  and 
eventually  did  all  the  business  there  was  to  be  done. 
*'I  git  all  the  money  they  got,  an'  nobody  c'd  do 
more'n  that  if  they  was  here  all  the  time,"  he  re- 
marked, as  he  laid  his  gun  and  a  bunch  of  bloody 
ducks  on  the  platform  and  unlocked  the  door  late 
one  night,  after  several  days'  absence.  *'I  got  'em 
all  trained  now  an'  they'd  be  spoiled  if  I  took  to 
bein'  here  reg'lar." 

There  were  two  ''spare  rooms"  over  the  store, 
that  were  reached  by  a  stairway  on  the  outside  of 
the  building.  I  usually  occupied  one  of  them  when- 
ever I  visited  that  part  of  the  river.  Bill  Stiles  slept 
in  the  other  when  he  thought  it  was  too  dark  for 
him  to  go  home,  or  he  was  not  in  a  condition  to 
make  the  attempt.    It  was  in  use  most  of  the  time. 

Bill  was  the  genus  loci,  and  gave  it  a  rich  and 
mellow  character,  which  it  would  have  been  difficult 
for  Posey  to  sustain  alone.  He  was  a  grizzled  vet- 
eran of  the  marshes.  For  many  years  he  had  lived 
in  a  tumble-down  shack  on  "Huckleberry  Island." 
He  trapped  muskrats  and  mink  over  a  wide  area  in 

[109] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

the  winter,  and  shot  ducks  and  geese  for  the  market 
in  the  spring  and  fall.  When  the  fur  harvests  be- 
gan to  fail,  and  the  game  laws  became  oppressive, 
he  concluded  that  he  was  getting  too  old  to  work, 
and  was  too  much  alone  in  the  world.  He  moved 
up  the  river  and  built  a  new  shack  on  ''Watermelon 
Bend,"  which  was  within  easy  walking  distance 
from  the  store,  where  he  could  usually  find  plenty 
of  congenial  company  when  he  wanted  it.  Here  he 
had  become  a  fixture. 

Out  of  the  ample  fund  of  his  experience,  flavored 
and  garnished  by  the  rich  and  inexhaustible  fertility 
of  an  imagination,  that  at  times  was  almost  uncanny, 
had  come  tales  of  early  life  on  the  river  and  marshes 
that  had  enthralled  the  loiterers  at  the  store.  They 
shared  the  shade  of  the  awning  with  him  during  the 
hot  summer  days,  and  surrounded  the  big  bellied 
wood  stove  in  the  dingy  interior  during  the  winter 
days  and  evenings  when  ''they  was  nothin'  doin'  *' 
anywhere  else  in  the  region,  and  listened  with  rapt 
interest  to  his  reminiscences.  Any  expression  of 
incredulity  met  with  crushing  rebuke.  "I  didn't 
notice  that  you  was  there  at  the  time,"  he  would 
remark  with  asperity.  *'K  you  wasn't,  that'll  be 
all  from  you.'* 

The  muskrat  colonies  still  left  along  the  river, 
and  out  on  the  marshy  areas,  were  often  drawn 
upon  by  adventurous  youngsters,  solely  for  the  pur- 
pose of  "seein'  Bill  skin  'em."  Clusters  of  the  un- 
fortunates were  brought  by  their  tails  and  laid  on 
the  store  platform.     The  old  man  would  look  the 

[1101 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STOKE 

crowd  over  patronizingly,  take  Ms  ''ripper'*  from 
his  pocket,  and,  with  a  few  dexterous  strokes,  per- 
form feats  of  pelt  surgery  that  made  the  tyros  gasp 
with  admiration. 

**I  skun  six  hundred  an'  forty-eight  rats  once't, 
in  five  hours,  that  I  'd  caught  on  Muckshaw  Lake  the 
night  before,"  was  Bill's  invariable  remark  after 
he  had  finished  his  grewsome  performance. 

The  adulation  of  these  small  audiences  was  the 
glow  that  illumined  his  declining  days. 

When  I  first  met  the  old  man  years  ago,  he  was 
engaged  in  writing  his  autobiography,  and  at  last 
accounts  he  was  still  at  it.  His  shack  and  the  little 
room  over  the  store  had  gradually  become  literary 
temples.  His  complicated  manuscripts  and  notes 
were  kept  in  an  old  black  satchel  of  once  shiny  oil 
cloth,  that  he  called  his  "war  bag. "  On  its  side  was 
the  roughly  lettered  inscription:  ''HISTOKIC 
CRONTCELS— STILES."  He  carried  it  back  and 
forth  between  his  abodes  with  much  solicitude.  Dur- 
ing the  many  evenings  I  spent  with  him,  he  would 
frequently  extract  its  contents  and  read  aloud  in 
the  dim  light  of  a  kerosene  lamp.  He  often  paused 
and  looked  over  the  rims  of  his  spectacles,  with 
animation  in  his  gray  eyes,  when  he  came  to  pas- 
sages that  he  deemed  of  special  importance.  The 
masses  of  foolscap  contained  records  that  were  only 
intelligible  to  the  writer.  His  grammar  and  spelling 
were  hopelessly  bad,  his  methods  of  compilation 
were  baffling,  and  his  penmanship  was  mystic,  but 
his  collection  of  facts  and  near-facts  was  prodigious. 

[Ill] 


THE  VANISHINGf  EIVEB 

He  took  long  reflective  rests  between  the  periods  of 
active  composition.  They  were  deathless  chronicles 
in  the  sense  that  they  seemed  to  be  without  end,  and 
they  appeared  to  become  more  and  more  deathless 
as  he  proceeded. 

The  first  two  or  three  hundred  pages  were  what 
Bill  called  a  ''Backfire  Chapter."  It  began  with 
the  Creative  Dawn,  and  was  a  general  historical 
resume  down  to  the  time  of  his  appearance  on  earth. 
It  skipped  lightly  over  the  great  events,  that  loom 
like  mountain  peaks  in  the  world's  history  and  tower 
away  into  the  receding  centuries.  When  he  came  to 
the  Deluge  he  got  lost  among  Noah's  animals  for 
awhile  and  floundered  hopelessly  for  adjectives.  It 
was  impossible  to  enumerate  and  describe  all  of 
them,  but  he  did  the  best  he  could.  Through  a  maze 
of  wars  and  falling  empires,  he  got  Columbus  to 
America.  The  Eepublic  was  established,  and  civil- 
ization finally  flowered  with  the  birth  of  Bill  Stiles, 
A.D.,  1836.  From  the  dawn  of  time  to  the  rocking 
of  Bill's  cradle  was  a  far  cry,  but  his  annals  included 
what  he  considered  the  essential  features  of  that 
dark  period. 

In  addition  to  a  vast  amount  of  matter  of  purely 
personal  interest,  the  work  was  designed  to  ac- 
curately record  the  happenings  in  the  river  country 
during  Bill's  lifetime. 

Much  of  his  material  was  collected  at  the  store. 
The  year  that  Bundy's  Bridge  was  built,  and  the 
ferry  ceased  operations,  was  shrouded  in  historic 
gloom.    Five  times  the  year  had  been  changed  in 

[112] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STOKE 

the  chronicles,  for  five  eminent  authorities  differed 
as  to  the  date,  and  each  of  them  had  at  one  time  or 
another  succeeded  in  impressing  Bill.  He  seemed 
confident  of  all  his  other  facts.  The  other  bridges 
had  given  him  no  trouble. 

There  was  no  question  in  his  mind  as  to  when 
the  Pottowattomies  were  relieved  of  their  lands  and 
forcibly  removed  from  the  country,  or  when  the 
camp  of  horse  thieves  on  Grape  Island  was  broken 
up. 

There  was  a  tale  of  another  band  of  horse  thieves, 
whose  secret  retreat  was  on  an  island  in  the  middle 
of  a  big  lake  of  soft  muck  several  miles  south  of 
the  river. 

The  one  route  of  access  to  it  was  a  concealed 
sand-bar  known  only  to  the  outlaws.  The  unsavory 
crew  collected  their  plunder  on  the  island,  where 
the  pilfered  beasts  were  cared  for,  and  their 
markings  changed  with  various  dyes.  In  due  time 
they  smuggled  them  away  in  the  darkness  to  dis- 
tant markets.  They  once  captured  a  too  curious 
preacher,  who  was  looking  for  his  horse,  and  kept 
him  in  durance  vile  for  several  months.  The  ex- 
pounder of  the  gospels  labored  so  faithfully  in  that 
seemingly  hopeless  vineyard  that  the  blase  bandits 
were  finally  ''purified  by  the  word  of  the  Lord,  gave 
up  their  dark  practices,  made  restitution,  and  ever 
after  lived  model  lives." 

There  was  a  record  of  a  mighty  flood  that  drowned 
out  everything  and  everybody,  ran  over  the  top  of 
the  bridge  and  carried  part  of  it  away,  and  f  ollow- 

[113] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

ing  this  were  notations  of  approximate  dates  of 
sundry  happenings — when  the  gang  of  counterfeit- 
ers that  dwelt  in  Pinkamink  Marsh  were  caught  and 
''sent  up" — the  year  that  Bill  killed  a  blue  goose  on 
''Boiler  Slough" — when  the  tornado  blew  all  of  the 
water  out  of  the  river  at  "Ox  Bow  Bend"  and  left 
the  channel  bare  for  half  an  hour,  and  the  year  that 
"forty-six  thousand  rat  skins  was  took  off  Shelby 
Marsh. ' ' 

A  page  was  devoted  to  a  reign  of  terror  that 
lasted  several  weeks  in  1877.  For  five  nights  an 
awful  roar  had  come  out  of  "Bull  Snake  Bayou." 
The  mystery  was  never  explained,  but  Bill  thought 
that  the  noise  had  been  produced  by  a  "whiffma- 
tick"  or  a  "hodad"  that  had  come  down  with  the 
spring  flood,  lost  its  way,  and  was  shedding  horns 
or  scales  in  the  vine-clad  thickets. 

The  births,  weddings  and  deaths  of  all  the  old  set- 
tlers were  carefully  recorded,  and  many  of  their  ex- 
ploits detailed  at  length.  There  was  an  account  of 
the  capture  of  Hank  Butts  and  his  illicit  still  by  the 
revenue  officers,  the  failure  of  the  jury  to  convict, 
owing  to  the  reputations  of  the  culprit's  two  sons 
as  dead  shots,  and  the  story  of  Hank's  death  in  a 
feather  bed,  with  his  boots  on,  when  he  went  to  visit 
a  city  relative  and  blew  out  the  gas  a  few  months 
later. 

Bill's  experience  with  a  "cattymount"  was  re- 
lated with  much  detail.  He  had  encountered  it  in 
the  woods  when  he  was  young,  and  had  spent  two 
days  and  nights  in  a  tree,  living  on  crackers,  plug 

[114] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

tobacco,  and  a  bottle  of  sage  tea  that  he  fortunately 
happened  to  have  with  him.  The  animal's  foot  had 
been  shattered  by  Bill's  only  bullet  and  this  pre- 
vented it  from  going  into  the  foliage  after  him. 
The  captive  had  chewed  up  over  a  pound  of  the 
plug  and  had  carefully  aimed  the  resulting  juices 
at  the  baleful  eye-balls  that  gleamed  below  him  at 
night,  hoping  to  blind  his  besieger.  When  the  sup- 
ply of  this  ammunition  was  exhausted  the  animal's 
eyes  were  still  bright,  although  Bill  had  scored 
many  body  hits  and  had  decidedly  changed  the  gen- 
eral color  of  his  enemy. 

Hunger  finally  compelled  the  savage  beast  to  beat 
a  retreat  and  the  situation  was  relieved.  The  *'cat- 
tymount"  had  evidently  increased  in  size  with  the 
succeeding  years,  for  in  the  manuscript  its  esti- 
mated length  had  been  twice  corrected  with  a  pen^ 
the  last  figures  being  the  highest.  Bill  added  that 
he  had  killed  this  ''fierce  an'  formidable  animal" 
later,  and  that  ''its  skin  was  taken  east." 

Somewhere  among  the  confused  piles  was  the  tale 
of  the  last  voyage  of  the  little  stern-wheel  steamer, 
"Morning  Star"  to  the  ferry,  under  command  of 
"Cap'n  Sink."  She  had  come  up  from  the  Illinois 
river,  and  the  falling  waters  had  left  her  stranded 
for  a  week  on  a  sand  bar.  Her  doughty  commander 
paced  the  deck  and  blistered  it  with  profanity.  He 
swore  by  nine  gods  that  he  never  again  would  go 
above  "Corkscrew  Bend,"  that  was  so  crooked  that 
even  the  fish  had  sense  enough  to  keep  out  of  it. 
His     vociferous     impiety     filtered     intermittently 

[115] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

through  the  green  foliage  that  overhung  the  river, 
and  desecrated  the  shadow-flecked  aisles  of  the  for- 
est, until  the  Morning  Star's  sister  boat,  the  "Dam- 
fino,''  came  wheezing  up  stream.  The  unfortunate 
craft  was  pulled  off  the  bar  and  navigation  offi- 
cially ended. 

Reliable  data  was  becoming  scarce.  Bill's  recol- 
lections were  getting  hazy.  The  old  settlers,  whose 
memories  could  be  relied  upon,  were  dying  off,  and 
the  mists  were  absorbing  his  ascertainable  facts, 
but,  while  life  lasts  the  chronicles  will  go  on,  for 
Bill's  genius  is  not  of  the  sort  that  admits  defeat. 

There  is  much  human  history  that  might  with 
profit  be  entombed  in  these  humble  archives,  and 
its  obscurity  would  be  a  blessing  to  those  who  made 
it.  As  the  world  grows  older  it  finds  less  to  respect 
in  the  dusty  tomes  that  are  filled  with  the  story  of 
human  folly,  selfishness  and  needless  bloodshed. 

Bill  and  I  were  enjoying  a  quiet  smoke  on  the 
store  platform  one  July  afternoon,  and  discussing 
his  historical  labors. 

"We'r  livin'  in  ter'ble  times,  an'  the  things  that's 
happenin'  now  mops  ev'ry  thing  else  off  en  the 
map,"  he  declared,  as  he  refilled  his  cob  pipe.  *'I 
see  things  in  my  paper  ev'ry  week  that  oughta 
be  noted  down  in  my  history,  but  I'm  pretty  near 
eighty,  an'  if  I  try  to  put  'em  all  in  I'll  never  git 
through.  There's  too  damn  much  goin'  on.  They'r 
ditchin'  the  river  an'  heil's  to  pay  up  above.  They'r 
blastin'  in  the  woods  with  dinnymite,  an'  some  o' 
them  ol'  codgers  that  lives  in  them  shacks  up  above 

[116] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

English  Lake '11  be  blown  to  kingdom  come  if  they 
don't  watch  out  an'  duck.  They  better  wake  up  an* 
come  down  stream.  Say,  d'ye  see  that  damn  cuss 
comin*  over  the  bridge!  That's  Rat  Hyatt,  an'  I'm 
goin'  to  jump  'im  when  'e  gits  'ere.  He  lost  my  dog 
I  let  'im  take.  That  feller's  no  good,  an'  'e's 
ripenin'  fer  damnation." 

"Muskrat  Hyatt"  was  a  tall,  raw-boned,  keen- 
eyed  ne'er-do-well  sort  of  a  fellow,  who  had  hunted 
and  trapped  on  the  river  for  many  years.  He  lived 
in  an  old  house  boat  that  had  floated  down  stream 
during  high  water  one  spring,  and  got  wedged  in 
among  some  big  trees  in  the  woods,  about  half  a 
mile  above  the  bridge.  He  moved  into  it  when  the 
waters  subsided  and  found  it  an  agreeable  abode. 

**I  hope  the  owner  never  shows  up,"  remarked 
Rat,  after  I  knew  him.  ''I  don't  think  I'd  like  him. 
If  the  water  ever  gits  that  high  ag'in  an'  floats  me 
off,  I'm  willin'  to  go  most  anywheres  in  the  old  ark 
so  long's  she  don't  take  a  notion  to  go  down  an* 
roost  on  the  bridge  with  me. ' ' 

He  greeted  us  with  rather  an  embarrassed  air, 
as  he  came  up,  and  the  old  man  spent  considerable 
time  in  attempting  to  extract  some  definite  infor- 
mation about  *  *  Spot. ' '  Rat  was  evasive  and  unsat- 
isfactory. 

"They  ain't  no  more  patheticker  sight  than  to 
see  some  feller  that  sets  an'  flaps  'is  ears,  an'  can't 
answer  nothin'  that's  asked  'im  without  tryin'  to 
chin  about  sump'n  else  aU  the  time,"  declared  Bill. 

[117] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

**I  don't  care  nothin'  about  its  bein*  hot.  I  want 
to  know  where  in  hell  my  dog  is" 

''That  dog  o'  your'n's  all  right,"  said  Hyatt.  ''I 
reckon  'e's  off  some'rs  chas'n  rabbits,  an'  you 
needn't  do  no  worryin'.  If  anybody's  stole  'im  you 
bet  I'll  git  'im  an'  the  scalp  o'  the  feller  with  'im. 
If  'e  aint  'ere  tomorrer  I'll  take  a  look  around.  A 
dog  like  that  can't  be  kep'  hid  long,  an'  somebody '11 
'ave  seen  'im.  He  ain't  no  fool,  an'  if  *e'&  shut  up 
anywheres,  you  bet  'e'll  come  back  w'en  'e  gits 
out." 

''Well,  you  see  that  'e  gits  out,"  replied  the  old 
man  with  asperity.  "I'm  done  havin'  heart  disease 
ev'ry  time  I  don't  see  that  dog  w'en  I  go  by  your 
place,  an'  I  want  'im  back  where  'e  b 'longs.  I 
didn't  give  'im  to  you,  an'  if  you  don't  know  where 
'e  is  you  aint  fit  to  have  charge  o'  no  animal.  This 
aint  no  small  talk  that  I'm  doin\  Its  the  sum m in' 
up  o'  the  court." 

Spot  was  a  well  trained  bird  dog.  Hyatt  had  bor- 
rowed him  from  the  old  man  about  two  years  before, 
and,  as  his  facilities  for  taking  care  of  him  were 
much  better  than  Bill  was  able  to  provide,  the  ani- 
mal was  allowed  to  remain  at  Hyatt's  house  boat 
on  indefinite  leave.  He  slept  under  the  rude  bed 
and  seemed  much  happier  there  than  at  home. 

Hyatt  was  now  in  rather  a  delicate  position.  The 
dog  had  not  been  seen  in  the  neighborhood  for  over 
a  week.  An  old  trapper  had  come  down  the  river 
in  a  canoe  and  stopped  for  an  hour  or  so  at  the 
house  boat.    He  announced  his  intention  of  leaving 

[118] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

the  country  forever,  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  Il- 
linois where  he  hoped  to  find  enough  muskrats  to 
occupy  his  remaining  days.  He  wanted  a  good  quail 
dog,  and,  after  much  jockeying,  had  acquired  Spot 
in  exchange  for  a  repeating  rifle  and  a  box  of  car- 
tridges. The  dog  was  tied  in  the  front  end  of  the 
canoe  and  departed  with  his  new  owner.  Hyatt  had 
an  abiding  faith  that  Spot  would  return  in  a  few 
days,  and  that  the  stranger  would  be  too  far  away 
down  stream  to  want  to  buffet  the  strong  current  to 
get  him  back. 

The  dog's  homing  instinct  had  proved  reliable 
heretofore,  as  he  had  been  sold  several  times  under 
similar  conditions,  and  was  now  regarded  as  a  pos- 
sible source  of  steady  income  by  his  thrifty  guard- 
ian. 

Hyatt  was  careful  not  to  sell  the  animal  to  any- 
body who  was  liable  to  be  in  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try again.  Spot  had  once  gone  as  far  as  the  Mis- 
sissippi river  with  a  confiding  purchaser,  and  was 
away  only  a  little  over  two  weeks.  He  was  now  ex- 
pected back  at  any  time,  in  fact  he  was  under  the 
bed  when  Hyatt  arrived  home  after  the  disagreeable 
reproaches  of  Bill  Stiles,  and  the  next  day  the  in- 
cident was  considered  closed  by  both  parties. 

The  only  pet  that  Bill  had  cared  anything  for  in 
recent  years,  besides  his  dog,  was  a  one  legged  duck 
that  he  called  ''Esther."  The  missing  support  had 
been  acquired  by  a  snapping  turtle  in  the  river,  and 
Bill's  sympathies  and  affections  had  been  aroused. 
During  her  owner's  absence  from  his  shack,  Esther 

[11^1 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

and  her  brown  brood  were  confined  in  the  hollow 
base  of  a  big  tree,  protected  from  the  weasels  and 
skunks  by  a  wire  screen  over  the  opening. 

By  Saturday  night  Hyatt  and  Stiles  had  become 
quite  chummy  again.  It  was  very  hot  and  we  sat 
in  front  of  the  store  with  our  coats  off.  Bill  was 
discoursing  sapiently  on  topics  of  international  im^ 
port,  when  we  saw  somebody  down  the  road. 

"That  oP  mudturkle  comin'  yonder  with  that 
pipe  stuck  in  all  them  whiskers,  is  Bill  Wirrick," 
he  announced  after  further  observation.  *'We  call 
'im  'Puckerbrush  Bill,*  on  account  of  'is  bein'  up 
in  Puckerbrush  Bayou  one  night  in  'is  push  boat, 
an'  tryin'  to  make  a  short  cut  to  git  back  to  the 
river.  He  got  'is  whiskers  tangled  in  the  pucker- 
brush  an'  had  to  cut  away  a  lot  of  'em  with  'is 
knife  to  git  out.  He's  between  some  pretty  big 
bunches  of  'em  now,  but  they  aint  nothin'  to  what 
they  was.  He  had  pretty  near  half  a  bushel  an'  'e 
used  to  carry  'is  money  in  'em.  I  s'pose  'e'll  begin 
tellin'  about  all  'is  troubles  w'en  'e  gits  'ere.  That's 
what's  the  matter  with  this  place,  an'  it  makes  me 
tired  to  hear  all  these  fellers  tellin'  their  troubles 
w'en  they  oughta  be  listenin'  to  mine.  My  troubles 
has  got  some  importance,  but  theirs  don't  interest 
nobody. 

''Hello,  Puck,"  greeted  the  old  man,  as  Wirrick 
came  up,  "how's  things  down  to  the  slough?" 

"Pretty  slow;  got'ny  tobacco?" 

"Listen  at  'im!"  whispered  Bill. 

He  was  duly  supplied,  and  took  one  of  the  hickory 

[120] 


"PUCKERBRUSH    BiLl' 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STOKE 

chairs  under  the  awning.  Notwithstanding  their 
reported  depletion,  his  whiskers  were  still  impres- 
sive, and  the  warm  evening  breeze  played  softly  and 
fondly  among  the  ample  remnants.  His  mouth  was 
concealed  somewhere  in  the  maze.  His  pointed  nose 
and  watchful  furtive  eyes  gave  his  face  a  peculiar 
foxy  expression. 

''Its  a  good  thing  you  didn't  strike  a  prairie  fire 
with  them  whiskers,  instid  of  a  mess  o'  pucker- 
brush,"  remarked  Bill,  after  a  period  of  silence. 

''I'm  goin'  to  mow  'em  in  a  few  days  to  cool  off, 
an'  then  raise  a  new  crop  fer  next  winter.  They's 
lots  more  whar  them  come  from,"  replied  Wirrick. 
"I'll  git  some  whiskers  that'll  make  you  fellers  set 
up  an'  take  notice  'fore  the  snow  flies." 

The  mention  of  fire  in  connection  with  his  whis- 
kers must  have  suggested  something  to  Wirrick, 
for,  when  he  appeared  without  them  the  following 
week,  he  said  that  he  hated  a  razor,  couldn't  find 
any  shears,  and  had  "frizzled  'em  off  with  a  can- 
dle." 

Bill  was  shocked  at  his  appearance. 

"You  look  like  you  was  half  naked.  I  see  now 
w'y  you  been  keepin'  that  ol'  mug  o'  your'n  cov- 
ered up.  You've  got  a  bum  face.  You  git  busy  an' 
git  all  the  whiskers  you  can  right  away!" 

The  next  arrival  was  Swan  Peterson,  an  aged 
Swede,  who  lived  in  a  dilapidated  shack,  festooned 
on  the  inside  with  rusty  muskrat  traps,  near  the 
mouth  of  "Crooked  Creek."  His  liver  had  re- 
belled against  many  years  of  unfair  treatment,  and 

[121] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

his  visage  was  of  a  greenish  yellow.  A  prodigious 
white  moustache,  that  suggested  a  chrysanthemum 
in  full  bloom,  accentuated  the  evidence  of  his  ail- 
ment. He  was  considerably  over  six  feet  tall.  The 
years  of  hardship  and  isolation  had  bent  his  mighty 
shoulders  and  saddened  his  gray  eyes.  Peterson  was 
cast  in  a  heroic  mould.  His  ancestors  were  the  sea 
wolves  who  roved  over  perilous  and  unknown  wa- 
ters, and  met  violent  deaths,  in  years  when  the 
Norse  legends  were  in  the  making,  but  their  wild 
forays  and  stormy  lives  meant  nothing  to  him.  He 
had  no  interest  in  the  past  or  traditions  to  uphold. 
All  he  now  wanted  in  the  world  was  plenty  of 
patent  medicine  and  whiskey  to  mix  with  it,  and  in 
a  pinch,  he  could  get  along  without  the  medicine. 

The  jaundiced  Viking  came  slowly  up  on  to  the 
platform,  looked  us  over  languidly,  and  commented 
on  the  general  cussedness  of  the  weather  and  Hfe's 
monotonies. 

*'I  ban  har  fifty  years,  an'  I  seen  the  same  damn 
thing  ev  'ry  year  all  over  again.  It  ban  cold  in  win- 
ter an'  hot  in  summer.  I  eat  an'  sleep,  an'  eat  an' 
sleep  some  more,  an'  work  hard  all  day,  an'  then  eat 
an'  sleep — ev'ry  day  the  same  damn  thing.  I  ban 
takin'  medicine  now  five  years,  an'  I  can't  git  none 
that's  got  any  kick.  Mebbe  I  got  some  o'  them 
things  that  Rass  Wattles  says  Wahoo  Bitters '11 
cure,  but  mebbe  I  got  something  else  that  they 
didn't  know  about  when  they  mixed  that  stuff.  I 
find  mixin'  half  Wahoo  an'  half  whiskey  ban  some 
help,  but  I'm  goin'  to  try  some  other  bitters  an' 

[122] 


Swan  Peterson 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STOKE 

mix  in  more  whiskey.  That  whiskey  ban  a  good 
thing,  an'  when  I  get  a  good  thing  I  put  a  sinker 
on  it." 

Old  **Doc"  Dust  drove  up  in  a  squeaky  buggy 
with  an  ancient  top.  His  lazy  gray  mare  seemed 
glad  to  get  her  feet  into  the  hollowed  ground  in 
front  of  the  hitching  rail. 

Certain  types  in  the  medical  profession  are  never 
called  anything  but  *'Doc,"  except  when  more  pro- 
fane appellations  are  required.  Dust  was  a  befit- 
ting name  for  the  old  man,  for  he  appeared  to  be 
much  dried  up.  His  parchment  like  skin  was  drawn 
tightly  over  his  protruding  cheek  bones,  and  his 
emaciated  figure  seemed  almost  ready  to  blow  away. 
A  frayed  Prince  Albert  coat  was  secured  with  one 
button  at  the  waist,  and  a  rusty  plug  hat  was 
jammed  down  on  the  back  of  his  head.  These  things 
were  evidently  intended  to  impart  a  professional 
air,  but  they  completed  a  sad  satire.  The  Doo 
looked  like  hypocritical  old  scamp. 

Much  human  character,  or  the  lack  of  it,  may  be 
indicated  by  a  hat,  and  the  manner  of  wearing  it, 
particularly  if  it  is  a  *'plug."  Worn  in  the  ordi- 
nary conventional  way,  a  '^correct"  plug  is  sup- 
posed to  provide  a  roof  for  a  certain  kind  of  dig- 
nity, but  usually  it  indicates  nothing  beyond  a  mere 
lack  of  artistic  sensibility.  Tipped  forward,  it  sug- 
gests sulkiness,  obstinacy,  and  self-complacency — 
a  sort  of  sporty  rowdyism,  when  worn  on  one  side 
— and  disregard  of  the  rights  and  opinions  of  others, 
when  it  is  tilted  back  of  the  ears. 

[123] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

Of  course  the  condition  and  the  year  of  coinage 
of  the  plug  enter  into  the  equation  and  complicate 
it,  but  even  a  very  shabby  plug  is  an  entertaining 
story  teller.  To  a  careful  and  discriminating  stu- 
dent of  human  folly,  it  is  replete  with  subtleties. 

A  Fiji  Island  cannibal,  whose  only  wearing  ap- 
parel was  a  plug  hat,  was  once  made  chief  of  his 
tribe  on  account  of  it.  It  was  probably  as  becom- 
ing to  him  as  it  had  been  to  the  spiritual  adviser 
he  had  eaten.  Such  dignity  and  distinction  as  it 
was  capable  of  imparting  was  his.  He  had  attained 
what  is  possibly  the  apotheosis  of  barbaric  head 
dress  of  our  age. 

Doc  carried  two  medicine  cases  under  his  buggy 
seat  on  his  professional  rounds.  One  of  them  was 
stocked  with  a  dozen  large  bottles  with  Latin  labels, 
and  the  other  with  small  phials  containing  white 
pills  the  size  of  number  six  shot.  If  his  patient 
preferred  ''Alopathy,"  he  or  she  got  it  with  a  ven- 
geance. If  *'Homepathy"  was  wanted,  the  smaller 
receptacle  was  drawn  upon.  The  ''leaders"  in  the 
"Alopathy"  box  were  castor  oil — calomel,  and 
quinine.  Aconite  and  Belladona — 100,  and  Mag- 
nesium Phos-10  occupied  the  places  of  honor  in  the 
other. 

Dust  had  weathered  several  matrimonial  storms, 
and  his  last  wife  was  now  under  the  wild  flowers 
in  the  country  cemetery,  where  the  epitaph  on  the 
unpretentious  stone — erected  by  her  own  relatives 
— was  more  congratulatory  than  sorrowful. 

"Doc"  Hopkins,  or  "Hoppy  Doc"  as  he  was  ir- 

[124] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

reverently  dubbed  along  the  river,  was  Dust's  only- 
rival.  The  competition  was  bitter,  and  many  un- 
timely ends  were  ascribed  by  each  of  them  to  the 
other's  criminal  ignorance.  Hoppy  Doc  often  told, 
with  great  relish,  a  story  of  Cornelia  Kibbins,  Dust's 
first  wife,  alleging  that  after  a  year  of  tempestuous 
married  life,  she  had  fled  to  her  father's  home  late 
one  winter  night  for  refuge.  Her  irate  parent  re- 
fused her  an  asylum.  He  had  felt  greatly  outraged 
when  the  wedding  took  place  and  never  wanted  to 
see  his  daughter  again.  In  answer  to  the  plaintive 
midnight  cry  at  his  door,  he  leaned  out  of  a  second 
story  window  and  delivered  a  torrent  of  invective. 
As  he  closed  the  window  he  shouted,  ''Dust  thou 
art,  and  unto  Dust  shalt  thou  return!" 

The  suppliant  disappeared,  and  evidently  the 
worm  turned,  for  Dust  was  a  physical  wreck  for  a 
month  afterwards.  Old  man  Kibbins  subsequently 
declared  that  while  his  daughter  ''was  a  damn  fool, 
she  had  fight 'n  blood  in  'er,  an'  the  Doc  'ad  better 
look  out  fer  squalls." 

Dust  was  guj^ed  good-naturedly  by  the  occupants 
of  the  platform,  as  he  went  into  the  store  to  get 
some  fine  cut. 

"What's  that  you've  got  out  there  between  them 
buggy  thills.  Doc?"  queried  Hyatt. 

Bill  winked  at  me  and  asked  him  if  he  had  driven 
by  his  garden  lately — a  delicate  reference  to  the 
cemetery,  intended  to  be  sarcastic. 

Another  stove  pipe  hat  was  brought  by  "Pop" 
TVilkins,  an  octogenarian.    He  also  wore  it  jammed 

[1251 


THE  VANISHING  EWER 

well  down  behind  his  ears.  The  old  man  climbed 
painfully  np  the  steps  with  his  hickory  cane,  and 
dropped  into  a  chair  that  Hyatt  brought  out  of  the 
store  for  him.  He  placed  the  ancient  tile  under  it, 
mopped  his  bald  head  with  a  large  red  bandanna, 
and  looked  wistfully  beyond  the  river. 

Pop  had  been  afflicted  with  intermittent  ague  for 
several  years.  He  was  once  a  preacher  and  a  tem- 
perance advocate.  He  was  placed  on  the  super- 
anuated  list  by  the  Methodist  conference,  and  had 
finally  been  expunged  as  a  backslider.  He  fell  from 
grace  and  yielded  to  the  lure  of  strong  waters. 
Once,  after  he  had  over  indulged  for  several  weeks, 
he  went  and  sat  in  sad  reflection  on  the  bank  of  the 
gloomy  river  at  night.  Out  of  its  depths  came 
strange  six  footed  beasts  and  multicolored  crawling 
things  that  terrified  Pop  and  drove  remorse  into  his 
soul.  Since  that  eventful  night  he  had  been  more 
moderate,  but  he  was  still  in  danger,  and  it  was  a 
question  as  to  whether  old  age,  ague,  or  J.  Barley- 
corn would  get  him  first. 

My  friend  *'Kun'l"  Peets,  who  was  a  compara- 
tively recent  importation  into  the  river  country, 
came  over  the  bridge  with  a  basket  on  his  arm  con- 
taining a  couple  of  setter  pups  that  he  wanted  Posey 
to  see,  with  a  view  of  possibly  having  them  applied 
on  his  account  at  the  store.  He  was  an  ex-con- 
federate from  Tennessee,  and  seemed  sadly  out  of 
harmony  with  his  surroundings.  The  pups  were 
liberated  on  the  platform  and  subjected  to  much 
poking  about  and  criticism  by  the  experts.     The 

[126] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

Colonel  considered  them  "fine  specimens  of  a  noble 
strain,"  but  Wirrick  thought  'Hhey  looked  like  they 
had  some  wolf  blood  in  'em."  Posey  agreed  to  ac- 
cept the  little  animals  in  lieu  of  eight  dollars  owed 
by  the  Colonel,  with  the  understanding  that  they 
were  to  be  kept  for  him  until  they  were  a  month 
older.  Everybody  understood  his  kindly  considera- 
tion for  the  old  man,  and  knew  that  he  had  no 
earthly  use  for  the  pups. 

The  assemblage  in  front  of  the  store  became  more 
varied  and  interesting  with  the  arrival   of  other 
visitors.     The  chairs  were  exhausted  and  the  plat- 
form edge  was  entirely  occupied.     Bill  Stiles  had 
just  commenced  the  narration  of  a  horse  trade  story, 
when  an  old  man  appeared  in  the  twilight  on  the 
bridge.    He  wore  a  long  gray  overcoat,  although  the 
evening  was  very  warm.     The  story  stopped  and 
mterest  was  centered  on  the  slowly  approaching 
figure. 

I  asked  Posey  who  he  was.  He  bent  his  head  to- 
ward me  confidentially,  and,  in  something  between 

a  low  whistle  and  a  whisper,  replied:  "S-s-s-s-t 

'the  Serpent's  Hiss'!!!" 

We  were  in  prohibition  territory,  and  the  old 
''bootlegger"  was  bringing  twelve  flat  pint  bottles 
m  twelve  inside  pockets  of  the  gray  overcoat  to 
break  the  drought  at  Posey's  store. 

He  was  an  unbonded  warehouse,  and  the  reason 
for  the  mysterious  gathering  on  that  particular  eve- 
ning was  now  apparent. 

He  came  slowly  up  the  steps,  and  seemed  embar- 

[127] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

rassed  to  find  a  stranger  present.  I  was  introduced 
and  vouched  for  by  my  friend  Posey,  and  he  seemed 
much  relieved. 

Conversation  had  been  rather  dull  during  the  last 
half  hour,  but  now  it  had  a  merry  note.  The  jaun- 
diced Viking  brightened  up  and  wondered  how  many 
bird's  nests  had  been  constructed  with  the  whiskers 
that  Wirrick  had  left  up  in  the  bayou.  Time  worn 
jokes  were  laughed  at  more  than  usual.  Some  new 
insurance  that  Posey  had  acquired  was  regarded  as 
indicating  a  big  fire  as  soon  as  business  got  dull, 
and  Doc  -Dust  was  told  that  he  ought  to  keep  the 
small  bag  of  oats  under  his  buggy  seat  away  from 
the  medicine  cases  or  he  would  lose  his  horse. 

''Well,  time  is  flitt'n,"  remarked  the  ''Serpent's 
Hiss,"  as  he  rose  and  departed  for  the  barn  lot 
behind  the  store. 

One  by  one,  like  turtles  slipping  off  a  log  into 
a  stream,  those  who  sat  along  the  edge  of  the  plat- 
form dropped  silently  to  the  ground  and  followed 
him,  and  most  of  the  occupants  of  the  chairs  joined 
the  procession.  Like  the  oriflamme  of  Henry  of 
Navarre,  the  gray  overcoat  led  them  on  through  the 
dusk. 

The  retreat  to  the  rear  was  in  deference  to  Posey's 
scruples.  He  preferred  that  the  store  itself  should 
be  kept  free  from  illegitimate  traffic. 

The  odor  of  substantial  sin,  and  a  faint  sugges- 
tion of  a  dragon's  breath  was  in  the  atmosphere 
when  the  crowd  returned.    Deliverance  had  come. 

[128] 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STOKE 

Aridity  was  succeeded  by  bountiful  moisture,  that 
like  gentle  rain,  bad  fallen  upon  thirsty  flowers. 

The  Colonel  seemed  in  some  way  to  be  dissatis- 
fied with  his  visit  to  the  bam,  and  was  at  odds  with 
the  owner  of  the  gray  overcoat  when  the  expedition 
returned.  He  had  parted  with  a  silver  coin  under 
protest. 

*'Inate  cou'tesy,  suh,  compelled  me  to  pa 'take  of 
you 'ah  abundance,  suh,"  he  declared.  ''It  was  not 
that  I  wanted  you 'ah  infe'nal  mixcha,  you  mink 
eyed  old  grave  robbah,"  he  declared,  as  he  left 
with  his  puppies. 

The  old  bootlegger's  name  was  Richard  Shakes, 
but  the  obvious  natural  perversion  to  "Dick 
Snakes"  was  too  tempting  to  be  resisted  by  the 
river  humorists.  He  was  also  frequently  alluded  to 
as  "Tiger  Cat,"  a  term  that  seemed  much  more  ap- 
propriate to  the  liquids  he  dispensed  than  to  him, 
for,  outside  of  his  questionable  occupation,  the  old 
man  was  entirely  inoffensive  and  harmless.  He  was 
another  member  of  the  old  time  trapping  fraternity, 
and  lived  alone  in  a  log  house  on  the  creek  about 
two  miles  away. 

He  had  a  large  collection  of  Indian  relics,  that  he 
had  spent  many  years  in  accumulating,  and  he  took 
great  delight  in  showing  them  to  anybody  who  came 
to  see  him.  The  arrow  and  spear  heads  were 
methodically  arranged  in  long  rows  on  thin  smooth 
boards,  and  held  in  place  by  the  heads  of  tacks  that 
overlapped  their  edges.    The  boards  were  nailed  to 

[129] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVEE 

the  walls  of  faced  logs  all  over  the  interior  of  the 
cabin. 

Nearly  everybody  in  the  surrounding  country  had 
contributed  to  the  collection  at  one  time  or  another, 
and  it  was  being  added  to  constantly. 

There  were  many  fine  specimens  of  tomahawk 
heads,  stone  axes,  and  other  implements,  that  had 
been  fashioned  with  admirable  skiU.  The  old  man 
guarded  his  hoarded  treasures  with  a  miser's  solici- 
tude, for  they  were  the  solace  of  his  lonely  life.  He 
had  refused  large  offers  for  the  collection  as  a 
whole,  and  never  could  be  induced  to  part  with  sin- 
gle specimens,  except  under  pressure  of  immediate 
necessity. 

There  are  few  mental  comforts  comparable  with 
those  of  absorbing  hobbies.  They  temper  the  raw 
winds  and  asperities  of  existence  to  a  wonderful  de- 
gree, and  offer  a  welcome  balm  of  heart  interest  to 
lives  weary  of  continued  conflict  for  mythical  goals. 
"We  may  smile  at  them  in  others,  but  we  realize  their 
deep  significence  when  they  are  our  own. 

Poor  old  Shakes  was  but  another  example  of  one 
made  happy  by  a  harmless  fad,  the  joys  of  which 
might  well  be  coveted  by  those  whose  millions  have 
brought  only  fear  and  sorrow.  After  it  is  all  over 
the  pursuit  of  one  phantom  has  been  as  gratifying 
as  the  quest  of  another,  for  they  both  end  in  dark- 
ness. 

After  sitting  around  for  awhile,  and  listening  to 
the  enlivened  conversation,  and  the  gossip  of  the 
neighborhood,  that  now  circulated  freely,  the  old 

[130] 


>%i: 


^ 


Dick  Shakes 


TIPTON  POSEY'S  STORE 

man  bought  a  package  of  tobacco  in  the  store,  for 
which  he  said  he  had  ''been  stung  ten  cents,"  and 
left  us,  with  the  overcoat,  from  which  the  cargo  had 
been  discharged,  hung  lightly  over  his  arm. 

The  assemblage  gradually  dispersed.  Wirrick, 
Hyatt,  and  the  jaundiced  Viking  went  down  to  the 
river  bank  and  departed  in  their  ''  push  boats. '  ^  Doo 
Dust  invited  Pop  Wilkins  to  ride  with  him,  and  they 
betook  themselves  into  the  shadows.  Tipton  Posey 
relighted  his  pipe  and  Bill  Stiles  resumed  the  story 
of  the  horse  trade. 


[131] 


VI 
MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  EEDEMPTION 


VI 

MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

EXCEPT  from  a  picturesque  standpoint, 
''Eat"  Hyatt  was  not  an  ornament  to  the 
river  country.  Its  meager  and  widely  scat- 
tered social  life,  and  its  average  of  morality,  were 
more  or  less  affected  by  his  shortcomings.  In  many 
communities  he  would  be  considered  an  undesirable 
citizen.  He  was  looked  upon  as  a  good  natured 
*'bad  egg,^^  and  as  one  industrious  in  the  ways  of 
sin  by  his  associates  at  Tipton  Posey's  store,  but 
the  habitues  of  that  time  honored  loafing  place  al- 
ways welcomed  him,  for  he  possessed  a  reminiscent 
talent  and  a  peculiar  kind  of  dry  wit  and  repartee 
that  helped  to  enliven  the  sleepy  days. 

In  this  world  much  sin  is  forgiven  an  entertain- 
ing personality. 

There  was  always  a  feeling  of  incompleteness  on 
the  store  platform  when  Eat  was  absent,  that  no- 
body ever  admitted,  but  when  he  arrived  and  took 
his  accustomed  seat  on  the  green  wheel  barrow,  that 
was  part  of  the  merchandise  that  Posey  kept  out- 
side in  the  day  time,  the  depressing  vacancy  existed 
no  longer. 

Bill  Stiles 's  temperamental  discharges  of  ornate 

[135] 


THE  VANISHING  KIVER 

philosophy,  and  his  comments  on  life's  ironies  and 
human  folly,  required  a  target,  and  this  was  com- 
monly the  role  assigned  to  Rat  Hyatt. 

''I'm  always  the  goat,"  remarked  Rat  one  hot 
afternoon,  as  we  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  wooden 
awning.  ''Wy  don't  you  pick  on  somebody  that 
likes  to  listen?  I've  been  kidded  by  experts,  an'  this 
long  talk  o'  your'n  seems  kind  o'  mixed  up.  The 
trouble  with  you  an'  a  lot  o'  the  other  ol'  mud  birds 
'round  'ere,  is  you  open  yer  mouth  an'  go  'way  an' 
leave  it,  an'  fergit  you  started  it." 

"Now  look  'ere.  Rat,"  replied  Bill,  **you  aint  got 
no  call  to  talk  back  to  me.  Wen  I'm  talkin'  to  you, 
I  aint  arguin'.  I'm  tellin'  you  how  'tis.  I  knowed 
you  w'en  you  wasn't  knee  high  to  a  duck,  an'  you 
aint  got  brains  enough  to  have  the  headache  with. 

"That  feller  that  you  sold  my  dog  to  the  last  time 
was  'ere  yisterd'y  askin'  'bout  you,  an'  if  Spot 'ad 
ever  come  back.  He'd  been  up  to  your  place,  an' 
its  a  good  thing  fer  you  that  you  an'  Spot  was  off 
some'rs  in  the  woods.  He  told  me  what  'e  traded 
you  fer  the  animal,  an'  I  want  you  to  bring  them 
things  to  me,  fer  it  was  my  dog  you  got  'em  with." 

As  Spot  was  asleep  under  the  wheelbarrow.  Bill's 
equity  in  the  repeating  rifle  and  cartridges,  that 
Hyatt  had  received  in  exchange  for  him,  seemed 
rather  hazy.  The  reason  for  Spot's  prolonged  ab- 
sence some  months  before  was  now  apparent  to  Bill, 
and,  although  the  intelligent  animal  had  returned 
home,  as  expected,  after  being  traded  off,  the  old 
man's  nurtured  wrath  was  waiting  for  Rat  when 

[136] 


"AIuskrat"    Hyatt 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

he  arrived  that  afternoon.  Hyatt  seemed  in  nowise 
abashed  at  the  revelation  of  Bill's  knowledge  of  his 
shady  transaction  with  the  trapper. 

''If  I  hadn't  a  knowed  the  dog  'ud  come  home,  I 
wouldn't  a  let  'im  go.  It  showed  how  much  I  trusted 
'im  w'en  I  let  'im  go  off  with  a  stranger  like  that. 
If  that  feller  thought  'e  c'd  keep  a  fine  dog  like  that 
away  from  them  that  loved  'im,  'e  oughta  suffer  fer 
'is  foolishness,  an'  leave  sump'n  in  the  country  to 
be  remembered  by.  Of  course  if  sump'n  'ad  a  hap- 
pened to  Spot,  an'  'e  hadn't  a  come  back,  I'd  a  given 
you  the  rifle,  but  I  knowed  that  dog  was  all  right. 
You  c'n  have  'im  back  any  time  you  want  'im,  if 
he'll  stay  with  you,  but  you  hadn't  oughta  jump 
on  me  as  long  as  'e  aint  lost,  an'  'e's  in  first  class 
health." 

**Its  the  funny  ideas  that  some  fellers  'ave  about 
other  people's  propity  that  keeps  the  states'  prisons 
filled  up,"  remarked  Bill.  "It  aint  the  lyin'  an' 
stealin'  that  gits  'em  thar,  its  gitt'n  caught.  If  they 
don't  git  caught  its  jest  called  business  shrewdness. 
You  bilked  that  feller  out  o'  that  gun  an'  you'r  de- 
privin'  me  of  it  w'en  you  used  my  dog  to  git  it 
with.  You'r  a  fine  man  to  trust  anythin'  with,  you 
are.  If  I  had  any  place  to  keep  Spot  I  wouldn't  let 
you  have  'im  a  minute.  I  c'n  fill  my  shanty  with 
stuff  by  tradin'  'im  off,  an'  then  wait'n  fer  'im  to 
come  home,  jest  as  well  as  you  can,  an'  it  'ud  be  all 
right  fer  me  to  do  it,  but  you  aint  got  no  such  right, 
'specially  if  yer  goin'  to  swindle  people." 

After  Bill's  assurance  that  he  had  told  the  de- 
CIS?] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEE 

luded  trapper  nothing  of  Spot's  return,  and  that  he 
had  gone  off  up  the  river,  the  conversation  drifted 
into  channels  that  were  less  irritating. 

The  old  man's  mind  became  calm  and  he  ascended 
the  narrow  stairway  on  the  outside  of  the  building, 
to  his  room  over  the  store,  for  a  nap. 

''That  ol'  feller  oughta  to  have  a  phonygraph 
with  'is  voice  in  it  so  he  c'd  spin  it  an'  listen  to 
'imself  speil,"  remarked  Eat  after  Bill  had  left. 
*'I  used  to  often  watch  'im  when  'e  was  set'n  quiet 
out  'ere  by  the  hour,  with  that  dinkey  hat  pulled 
down  in  front  an'  lookin'  wise,  an'  wonder  what 
big  thoughts  was  ferment 'n  up  in  that  old  moss 
covered  dome  o'  his,  but  I  found  out  after  a  while 
that  'e  wasn't  thinkin'  about  nuth'n  at  all." 

Eat  wended  his  way  down  to  the  bank  under  the 
bridge,  where  he  had  left  his  push  boat,  followed 
by  the  faithful  Spot,  and  poled  his  way  up  stream. 
When  he  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  stranded  house 
boat,  where  he  had  lived  for  several  years,  he  recon- 
noitered  it  cautiously.  No  malign  presence  was  de- 
tected. He  looked  over  his  bee  hives  that  were  scat- 
tered about  among  the  trees,  and  provided  two  or 
three  week's  food  supplies  for  his  chickens,  and 
some  young  coons  and  weasles,  that  he  was  raising 
for  their  fur  in  some  wire  cages  under  the  house. 
He  then  packed  a  few  necessaries  into  his  boat,  and 
secured  the  door  of  the  house  with  a  padlock. 

He  was  not  quite  satisfied  that  the  trapper,  who 
was  looking  for  Spot,  had  left  the  country,  and  he 
did  not  intend  to  take  any  chances.    The  dog  was 

[138] 


MUSKEAT  HYATT'S  EEDEMPTION 

ordered  to  lie  down  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe,  where 
he  was  carefully  covered.  The  intelligent  animal 
complied  cheerfully  with  all  of  the  arrangements. 

Rat  then  proceeded  down  the  river  for  several 
miles  to  the  big  marsh,  where  he  did  the  most  of  his 
trapping  during  the  late  fall,  winter,  and  spring. 

He  had  two  motives  for  his  trip,  besides  the  idea 
of  avoiding  a  possible  visit  of  the  trapper  to  the 
house  boat.  One  was  to  see  if  the  muskrat  popu- 
lation on  the  marsh  had  increased  properly  during 
the  summer,  and  the  other  was  to  visit  Malindy  Tay- 
lor, whom  he  deeply  loved,  and  by  whom  he  was 
scorned  as  a  suitor. 

Malindy  was  a  peppery  widow  of  about  forty,  who 
lived  with  her  aged  mother  in  a  small  house  beyond 
the  marsh.  She  was  the  owner  of  a  wild  duck  farm, 
and  conducted  it  with  such  success  that  Eat  looked 
forward  to  spending  his  declining  days  in  peace  and 
comfort  if  he  could  persuade  Malindy  to  take  him 
into  life  partnership. 

Many  hundreds  of  mallards  and  teal  nested 
among  the  boggy  places  in  the  marsh  during  the 
summer.  The  eggs  were  gathered,  put  into  incu- 
bators, and  under  complaisant  hens  on  the  farm. 
The  ducklings  were  reared  in  wired  enclosures 
that  prevented  them  from  joining  their  kind 
in  the  skies  when  the  fall  migrations  began.  During 
the  game  season,  when  they  were  properly  matured, 
they  were  skilfully  strangled  and  shipped  away  as 
wild  birds  at  game  prices. 

Rat  had  always  willingly  hunted  nests  and  gath- 

[139] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

ered  eggs  for  his  beloved.  He  did  odd  jobs  about 
the  farm  and  participated  in  everything  but  the 
harvest.  Like  Jacob  of  old,  toiling  for  the  hand  of 
Kachael,  Eat's  industry,  although  intermittent,  was 
sustained  by  alluring  hope. 

Outside  of  her  earthly  possessions,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  Malindy  had  few  charms.  One  of  her 
eyes  was  slightly  on  the  bias,  and  at  times  it  had 
a  baleful  gleam.  Two  of  her  front  teeth  protruded 
in  a  particularly  unpleasant  way,  as  though  she  ex- 
pected to  bite  at  something  alive.  She  had  an  an- 
gular disposition,  and  her  temper  was  not  conducive 
to  the  even  flow  of  life's  little  amenities.  To  use  a 
Scotch  expression,  she  was  **unco  pernickity."  She 
was  intolerant  of  human  frailty  in  others,  especially 
of  the  kinds  that  entered  so  largely  into  Eat  Hyatt's 
make-up,  but  divinities  sometimes  appear  in  strange 
forms.  To  Eat's  love  blinded  eyes  she  was  the  one 
lone  flower  that  grew  in  the  dreary  desert  of  life's 
monotonies. 

There  is  something  about  everybody  that  appeals 
to  somebody,  and  this  is  why  there  is  nobody  who 
cannot  find  somebody  willing  to  marry  them. 

Perhaps  the  streak  of  primitive  cussedness  in 
Malindy  appealed  to  compatible  instincts  in  Eat's 
heart,  but  be  that  as  it  may,  he  was  a  faithful  and 
much  abused  worshiper. 

When  he  reached  the  farther  end  of  the  great 
marsh,  he  threaded  his  way  through  familiar  open- 
ings among  the  tall  masses  of  rushes  and  wild  rice, 
landed  on  the  soggy  shore,  and  pulled  his  canoe  up 

[140] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

among  the  underbrush.  He  and  Spot  then  took  the 
winding,  path  that  led  through  the  woods  to  the  duck 
farm,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

He  intended  to  stay  at  the  farm,  in  seclusion,  for 
a  week  or  two,  do  some  work  that  he  had  long  prom- 
ised, and  then  put  out  his  traps  on  the  marsh.  He 
kept  about  a  hundred  of  them  in  Malindy's  barn, 
when  they  were  not  in  use. 

About  half  way  down  the  marsh  a  long  tongue  of 
wooded  land  extended  out  into  the  oozy  slough.  It 
was  known  as  ''Swallow  Tail  Point."  This  was 
Tipton  Posey's  favorite  haunt  during  the  shooting 
season.  Thousands  of  wild  ducks  and  geese  passed 
over  it  on  their  way  up  or  down  the  river,  and  in 
circling  about  over  the  marsh,  which  was  a  bounti- 
ful feeding  ground.  Bill  Wirrick  spent  much  time 
on  the  point  with  Posey.  They  had  a  little  shack 
back  among  the  low  trees,  sheltered  so  that  it  could 
not  be  seen  from  the  sky,  and  hidden  from  the  wa- 
ter by  the  tall  brush. 

These  two  worthies  had  solved  at  least  one  of 
life 's  problems  in  this  secluded  retreat,  for  they  did 
not  have  to  adjust  themselves  to  the  convenience  of 
anybody  else. 

In  the  early  morning,  just  before  daylight,  when 
the  ducks  began  to  move  over  the  marsh,  and  in  the 
evening  twilight,  when  the  incoming  flocks  were  set- 
tling for  the  night,  little  puffs  of  smoke,  and  faint 
reports,  issued  from  the  end  of  the  point,  and  dark 
objects  fell  out  of  the  sky.  They  were  diligently  re- 
trieved by  Posey's  brown  water  spaniel. 

[141] 


THE  VANISHING  KIVEE 

Occasionally  wild  geese  would  sweep  low  over  the 
point,  scatter  and  rise  excitedly,  as  the  puffs  of 
smoke  fook  toll  from  the  honking  ranks. 

In  addition  to  a  big  bunch  of  wooden  decoys  that 
floated  in  an  open  space  near  the  edge  of  the  point, 
the  wary  birds  were  lured  by  mechanical  quacks 
and  honks  from  small  patented  devices,  operated  by 
their  concealed  enemies. 

Notwithstanding  their  civilized  garb,  and  highly 
developed  weapons,  Tip  and  Bill  were  barbarians. 
Their  instincts  were  lower  than  those  of  the  car- 
nivora  of  the  jungle,  for  they  killed  not  for  food, 
or  even  for  profit,  but  for  the  joy  of  the  killing. 
They  did  not  bother  about  the  wounded  birds  that 
curved  away  and  fluttered  into  the  matted  grasses 
and  rushes,  to  suffer  in  silence,  or  be  eaten  by  the 
big  snapping  turtles  that  had  no  ideas  of  sport. 
They  exulted  over  piles  of  beautiful  feathered  crea- 
tures, motionless  and  splashed  with  blood,  many  of 
which  were  afterwards  thrown  away. 

Tip  had  devoted  many  of  his  idle  hours  to  the  in- 
vention of  a  new  goose  call.  The  range  of  the  ordi- 
nary devices  seemed  to  him  too  restricted.  His  the- 
ory was  that  if  the  volume  of  sound  could  be  in- 
creased so  as  to  fill  a  radius  of  four  or  five  miles, 
the  distant  V  shaped  flocks  could  be  lured  to  within 
gun  shot  of  the  point. 

After  long  meditation,  and  consultation  with  Bill 
Wirrick,  they  began  putting  the  plan  into  execution. 

They  procured  a  pair  of  blacksmith's  bellows 
from  a  distant  country  town,  and  some  big  instru- 

[142] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

ments  that  had  once  belonged  to  the  local  brass 
band.  These  things,  in  addition  to  some  rubber  gar- 
den hose,  and  a  lot  of  other  miscellaneous  material, 
were  carefully  covered  in  a  wagon  and  secretly  con- 
veyed to  the  point. 

Weeks  were  spent  in  the  construction  of  the  ap- 
paratus. The  brass  instruments  were  arranged  in 
the  interior  of  a  huge  megaphone.  Rubber  balls 
bobbed  about  intermittently  within  the  capacious 
horns  when  the  air  was  pumped  through  them.  The 
requisite  volume  of  sound  was  attained,  but  some- 
how the  turbulent  honks  of  the  wild  geese  were  not 
satisfactorily  imitated,  although  repeated  adjust- 
ment and  alteration  gave  much  hope  of  success. 

The  experiments  were  conducted  cautiously  dur- 
ing the  summer,  when  there  was  nobody  on  the 
marsh,  and  no  mention  of  the  contrivance  was  made 
around  the  store,  for  a  cruel  gauntlet  of  jibes  and 
merciless  humor  awaited  the  nonsuccess  of  the  en- 
terprise,  if  the  wiseacres  of  the  platform  ever 
learned  of  it. 

Rat  Hyatt,  although  much  interested  in  all  that 
pertained  to  the  marsh,  and  its  surroundings,  had 
never  suspected  what  was  going  on  on  the  point. 
He  never  had  occasion  to  land  there,  and,  by  com- 
mon consent,  its  possession  by  Posey  and  Wirrick 
for  shooting  purposes  was  respected  by  the  few 
hunters  who  frequented  the  vicinity. 
^  Malindy  Taylor  had  sometimes  heard  some  ter- 
rible noises  from  the  direction  of  the  point,  but  she 
was  too  far  away  to  be  much  disturbed.    Both  Posey 

[143] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

and  Wirrick  had  often  referred  to  Malindy  as  **an 
old  fuss-bug, ' '  although  she  was  much  younger  than 
either  of  them,  and  they  probably  would  not  have 
cared  if  they  had  scared  her  out  of  the  country,  but 
she  had  little  curiosity  about  things  that  did  not 
affect  her  duck  farm. 

She  and  her  mother  had  concluded  that  the  un- 
canny sounds  were  produced  by  donkeys  in  the 
woods,  and  doubtless  this  was  also  the  opinion  of 
most  of  those  who  afterwards  learned  all  of  the 
facts. 

"When  Rat  emerged  from  his  retirement  at  the 
duck  farm,  he  spent  two  or  three  days  puttering 
about  through  the  water  openings,  setting  his  traps. 

The  furred  inhabitants  of  the  slough  had  builded 
their  picturesque  little  domes  of  stringy  roots, 
rushes,  and  dead  grass,  and  plastered  them  together 
with  lumps  of  mud  in  the  quiet  places,  away  from 
the  river  currents  that  crept  in  sinuous  and  broken 
channels  through  the  broad  wastes  of  sodden  laby- 
rinths. 

Hyatt  was  an  intelligent  trapper,  and  was  care- 
ful not  to  depopulate  his  grounds.  He  frequently 
moved  the  traps,  so  as  not  to  exhaust  the  animals 
in  a  particular  locality.  The  little  competition  he 
had  on  the  marsh  must  have  been  discouraging  to 
his  rivals,  for  he  always  had  more  traps  at  the  end 
of  the  season  than  at  its  beginning,  and  the  traps 
set  by  others  never  seemed  to  be  very  productive, 
except  to  Hyatt.  By  degrees  each  new  comer  was 
eliminated. 

[144] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

Rat  had  finished  a  hard  day's  work.  He  sat  on 
some  dry  grass  in  the  bottom  of  his  canoe,  lighted 
a  redolent  old  pipe,  and  decided  to  indulge  in  a  good 
smoke  and  a  long  rest  before  starting  up  the  river. 

Twilight  had  come.  The  vast  expanse  of  over- 
grown water  was  silent,  except  for  the  low  lullabies 
of  the  marsh  birds  among  the  thick  grasses  and  bul- 
rushes. He  sat  for  a  long  time  and  watched  the 
smoke  curl  up  into  the  still  air.  The  moon  came 
over  the  distant  rim  of  the  forest  that  bordered  the 
great  marsh,  and  one  by  one,  the  stars  began  to 
tremble  in  the  crystal  sky,  but  it  was  not  with  the 
eye  of  the  poet  that  Rat  regarded  these  things.  The 
moonlighted  river  would  be  easy  to  navigate  on  the 
trip  home. 

Suddenly  a  flash  of  greenish  light  shot  into  the 
heavens  in  the  north  west,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  entire  horizon  in  every  direction  flamed  and 
shimmered  mth  long  gleaming  streamers  of  rose 
and  green  beams  that  touched  fluttering  segments 
of  a  corona  of  orange  glow  at  the  zenith. 

Rat  had  often  seen  the  Aurora  Borealis ;  he  was 
familiar  with  sheet  lightning,  and  the  electrical 
discharges  of  the  thunder  storms,  but  this  awful 
light  was  something  new. 

It  was  a  magnetic  storm,  one  of  those  rare  phe- 
nomena, that  the  average  person  sees  but  once  in  a 
life  time,  and  never  forgets,  paused  by  the  sudden 
incandescence  of  heavily  charged  solar  dust  in  the 
earth's  atmosphere. 

The  play  of  the  fitful  quivering  gleams  through 

[145] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

the  firmament  was  a  sublime  spectacle.  The  mo- 
tionless air  had  the  peculiar  odor  that  comes  from 
an  excess  of  ozone. 

Rat  Hyatt  was  in  the  throes  of  mortal  fright. 
The  dog  uttered  a  long  howl,  and  just  at  that  mo- 
ment— like  a  yell  of  demonic  mockery  out  of  sul- 
phurous caverns — the  unearthly  tones  of  Tipton 
Posey's  goose  call  resonated  from  the  woods  on 
Swallow  Tail  Point,  and  reverberated  beyond  the 
weirdly  lighted  waters. 

One  or  both  of  its  builders  had  probably  come  to 
test  the  powers  of  the  unholy  device,  and  were  un- 
abashed by  the  drama  that  glorified  the  night  skies. 

With  blind  instinct  of  self  preservation,  Rat  rose 
to  his  knees  and  made  a  faltering  attempt  to  grasp 
his  paddle,  but  his  hands  refused  the  dictates  of  his 
palsied  brain.  He  cowered  as  one  in  the  presence 
of  the  Ultimate. 

To  him,  in  this  appalling  display  of  supernatural 
power,  and  the  evident  impending  end  of  all  things, 
had  come  the  agony  of  abject  terror  and  despair, 
and  before  it  his  rude  conception  of  life  collapsed. 

His  past  flashed  before  his  distorted  vision  like  a 
hideous  nightmare.  His  world  suddenly  lost  reality. 
The  human  creatures  in  it  changed  to  throngs  of 
fleeting  phantoms,  impelled  by  unseen  forces.  They 
glared,  grinned  and  gibbered  at  each  other,  as  they 
hurried  through  the  mist,  and  vanished  into  the 
oblivion  from  which  they  came. 

In  the  realm  of  fear  there  are  ghastly  solitudes. 
They  pervade  dim  phosphorescent  glows  on  ocean 

[146] 


MUSKBAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

floors,  and  they  brood  in  the  desolation  around  the 
poles.  They  creep  into  awe  stricken  hearts  when 
the  filmy  strands,  that  sustain  the  Ego  on  its  frail 
human  web  are  broken,  and  the  denuded  spirit 
stands  in  utter  loneliness  at  the  brink  of  Chaos. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  the  wonderful  radiance, 
that  had  transfigured  the  heavens,  and  chilled  the 
marrow  bones  of  Eat  Hyatt,  ceased  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  begun.  The  frightful  unknown  sounds  from 
the  woods  were  not  repeated. 

Rat  finally  succeeded  in  getting  on  his  feet.  He 
pushed  his  canoe  out  into  the  channel  and  started 
up  stream,  but  it  was  a  changed  man  who  swung 
the  long  paddle.  His  soul  had  been  rarefied  in  chas- 
tening flames.  He  was  as  one  who  had  met  his 
Maker  face  to  face,  and  his  only  hope  now  was  that 
his  life  span  might  be  mercifully  extended  until  he 
could  make  amends  for  the  past. 

He  reached  the  house  boat  in  the  early  morning, 
much  exhausted,  and  threw  himself  on  the  rude  bed^ 
where  his  shattered  nerves  found  partial  repose. 

His  sleep  was  much  troubled.  He  awoke  with  a 
sudden  start  late  in  the  afternoon,  and,  lashed  by 
an  avenging  conscience,  slid  his  canoe  into  the  river 
and  hurried  up  stream  to  find  the  Reverend  Daniel 
Butters,  a  venerable  preacher,  who  lived  about  six 
miles  away.  To  him  he  would  carry  his  heavy 
laden  heart,  and  in  the  consolations  of  religion  seek 
forgiveness  and  peace. 

^^  The  Reverend  Butters  was  known  far  and  wide  as 
** Dismal  Dan,''  and  was  referred  to  in  Bill  Stiles 's 

[147] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

chronicles  as  *Hhe  Javelin  of  the  Lord."  He  was 
an  eccentric,  heavily  bewhiskered  old  character,  who 
believed  in  the  Church  Militant,  and  had  exhorted, 
quoted  reproving  scripture,  and  made  doleful 
prophecies  in  the  river  country  for  two  normal  gen- 
erations. 

In  the  little  weather  beaten  country  church,  up 
the  river,  his  small  audiences  consisted  of  aged 
ladies  and  pious  old  settlers,  who  were  already 
saved,  and  did  not  need  the  rescuing  hand.  He 
preached  Calvinistic  damnation  in  the  belief  that 
fear  of  hell  was  a  more  potent  factor  in  human  re- 
demption than  hope  of  reward. 

His  principal  authority  on  heU  was  Jonathan  Ed- 
wards, a  fiery  divine,  who  glowed  in  Massachusetts 
about  two  hundred  years  ago.  During  his  eruptive 
period,  Edwards's  sermons  on  damnation  blistered 
and  enriched  the  sectarian  literature  of  his  time. 
Dismal  Dan  frequently  resurrected  and  reheated 
these  old  printed  sermons,  and  hurled  the  sputter- 
ing embers  at  his  inoffensive  listeners. 

He  had  not  made  a  convert  for  many  years.  Of 
late  his  powers  of  spiritual  persuasion  had  lan- 
guished, and,  like  his  hearers,  had  become  atrophied. 

He  was  a  revivalist  who  did  not  revive.  He 
needed  new  and  pliant  material,  and  when  Muskrat 
Hyatt  had  told  his  errand  he  was  welcomed  as  one 
who  had  fled  from  among  the  Pharisees.  Out  of  the 
wilderness  of  sin  a  lowly  suppliant  had  come. 

They  talked  of  the  mysterious  and  unknown  light 
that  had  illumined  th^  heavens  the  night  before,  and 

[148] 


Ihe  Keverexd  Daxiel  Eutter; 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

the  terrifying  sounds  that  had  come  over  the  waters. 
Dismal  Dan  pronounced  it  all  to  be  a  ''manifesta- 
tion." He  had  long  expected  signs  and  angry  por- 
tents in  the  skies  as  a  warning  to  sinners.  Prob- 
ably his  biased  mind  would  eagerly  have  ascribed 
divine  origin  to  any  natural  phenomenon  that  shooed 
fish  into  his  ministerial  net. 

They  spent  many  days  and  nights  in  prayer  and 
assiduous  scriptural  readings.  A  far  away  look  came 
into  Hyatt's  eyes,  and  an  elevation  of  brow  that  did 
not  seem  to  be  of  this  world.  The  spiritual  calm  of 
the  neophite  within  cloistered  walls  was  his.  He 
had  laid  a  contrite  heart  upon  the  altar  of  his  fears, 
and  on  it  rested  celestial  rays. 

He  interrupted  the  period  of  his  reconstruction 
with  a  trip  down  the  river  to  visit  Malindy  Taylor. 
Just  what  passed  at  the  duck  farm  was  never  known, 
but,  after  three  days,  Malindy  opened  her  heart  of 
stone  to  the  penitent.  They  came  up  the  stream  in 
the  canoe,  and,  as  the  enraptured  township  corre- 
spondent of  the  county  paper  expressed  it,  "they 
were  united  on  the  front  porch  in  the  sacred  bonds 
of  holy  matrimony,  by  the  Reverend  Daniel  But- 
ters, on  the  afternoon  of  Thursday,  the  bridegroom 
being  attired  in  conventional  black,  and  the  bride 
with  a  bouquet  of  white  flowers." 

Rat  betook  himself  to  the  duck  farm  with  his 
bride.  He  removed  all  his  traps  from  the  marsh, 
for  he  now  considered  the  problem  of  his  future 
earthly  existence  solved,  without  the  necessity  of 
very  much  hard  work. 

ri491 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEE 

He  made  frequent  visits  to  Dismal  Dan,  but  kept 
entirely  away  from  the  store.  That  place  was  a  sink 
of  iniquity  that  he  desired  to  avoid.  He  and  the  old 
man  spent  many  hours  together  that  were  sweet- 
ened with  blissful  discourse.  Dismal  Dan  felt  that 
a  life  time  devoted  to  expounding  the  gospels  had 
found  glorious  fruition  in  the  salvation  of  Muskrat 
Hyatt,  and  he  was  greatly  elated  by  the  sustained 
piety  of  the  proselyte. 

He  proposed  to  Brother  Hyatt  that  they  go  to- 
gether to  the  store,  and,  if  possible,  ''convert  the 
bunch  on  the  platform."  In  his  opinion  a  success- 
ful attack  on  that  citadel  of  sin  would  practically 
put  the  devil  out  of  business  in  the  river  country. 

Brother  Hyatt  willingly  consented.  He  was  with- 
out fear  of  ridicule.  He  floated  in  an  atmosphere 
of  moral  purity  that  the  mockery  of  sinners  could 
not  defile. 

They  took  a  Bible,  two  old  hymn  books,  and  some 
lunch  to  the  canoe,  and,  accompanied  by  the  trust- 
ful and  devoted  Spot,  they  proceeded  down  the 
river.  They  stopped  at  the  house  boat  and  secured 
the  gun  and  cartridges  that  the  trapper  had  left 
in  exchange  for  the  dog,  and  went  on  down  to  the 
bridge. 

On  the  river  they  practiced  some  of  the  old  hymns, 
in  the  rendition  of  which  Brother  Hyatt  displayed 
a  woeful  technique.  They  finally  gave  up  trying  to 
sing  them,  and  Brother  Butters  droned  out  the 
rhythmic  lines  in  a  most  doleful  way,  that  Brother 
Hyatt  soon  imitated  successfully. 

[150] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

Brother  Butters  then  outlined  the  form  of  ex- 
hortation that  he  would  use  at  the  store,  and  in- 
structed his  assistant  how  he  was  to  cooperate  with 
deep  and  loud  amens,  whenever  big  climaxes  were 
reached.  Minor  climaxes  were  to  be  left  to  Brother 
Hyatt's  judgment.  He  was  to  watch  Brother  But- 
ters, and  when  the  forefinger  was  raised  above  the 
head,  an  amen  of  more  than  usual  sonorousness  was 
to  be  forthcoming. 

Brother  Hyatt  had  studied  the  hymn  books  in- 
dustriously, and  had  selected  scattered  verses  that 
pleased  him  and  seemed  appropriate.  They  were 
laboriously  copied  on  loose  sheets  of  paper.  It  was 
his  intention  to  introduce  these  snatches  of  hymns 
into  Brother  Butters 's  sermon  with  the  amens, 
whenever  possible,  and  they  both  considered  that 
holy  power  would  thereby  be  added  to  the  exhorta- 
tion. The  order  in  which  the  extracts  were  to  be 
introduced  was  considered  on  the  way  down,  but  the 
sheets  got  somewhat  mixed  in  Brother  Hyatt's 
pocket  before  it  was  time  to  use  them. 

The  enemies  of  Satan,  with  their  carefully  pre- 
pared batteries  of  pious  invective  and  Calvinistio 
hymns,  landed  safely  under  the  bridge,  late  in  the 
afternoon.  The  canoe  was  pulled  out.  Brother 
Hyatt  peeked  over  the  top  of  the  embankment,  and 
saw  that  the  chairs  on  the  store  platform  were  all 
filled,  and  that  its  edge  was  festooned  with  the  usual 
attendants. 

Tipton  Posey,  Pop  Wilkins,  Bill  Stiles,  Doc  Dust, 
Bill  Wirrick,  ''the  Jaundiced  Viking,"  "the  Ser- 

[151] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

pent's  Hiss,"  and  the  other  ''regulars,"  were  all 
there.    The  vineyard  looked  ripe  and  inviting. 

Bill  Stiles  hailed  the  proselyters  cordially  as  they 
approached  the  stronghold. 

"Say,  Rat,  whar  you  been  buried  all  this  time?" 

"Bill,  they's  sump'n  wonderful  happened  to  me. 
I've  got  religion.  A  great  light  'as  come  to  me,  an' 
I've  repented  of  all  my  sins.  I've  brought  that  gun 
an'  them  catritches  that  I  traded  yer  dog  fer,  an' 
I  want  you  to  find  that  feller  an'  give  'em  back  to 
'im.  I  done  wrong,  an'  I  want  to  square  things  up. 
Three  or  four  times  I  sold  Spot,  knowin'  he'd  come 
home,  but  I've  spent  the  money.  I'm  goin'  to  git 
some  of  my  friends  to  pay  back  ev'ry  cent,  if  I  c'n 
find  the  fellers  that  bought  'im." 

"That'll  make  yer  friends  awful  happy,  Rat.  Say, 
you  cert'nly  are  a  pippin!    What  done  all  this?" 

"Never  mind.  Bill,  you'll  see  the  light  some  day. 
No  man  knows  w'en  the  spirit  cometh.  Brother 
Butters  an'  I  are  goin'  to  hold  some  services  out  in 
front  o'  the  store  this  afternoon.  We  want  all  the 
chairs  fixed  nice  an'  even.  Brother  Butters  will 
preach,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  line  out  hymn  passages 
'long  with  the  sermon.  We  aint  got  no  music,  but 
me  linin'  'em  out '11  be  jest  the  same  as  if  they  was 
played  in  tunes,  fer  it'll  show  what  they  are.  I 
hope  that  some  o'  you  fellers '11  bite  at  what's  of- 
fered." 

Rat  was  regarded  with  much  concealed  levity  and 
mock  respect,  as  he  arranged  the  chairs  in  a  curved 

[152] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

row,  and  further  developments  were  awaited  with 
suppressed  interest. 

Bill  Stiles  joyfully  accepted  the  center  of  the  row. 
Tipton  Posey  and  the  Serpent's  Hiss  were  at  the 
ends.  After  the  chairs  were  filled  the  rest  of  the 
audience  sat  along  the  edge  of  the  platform  and 
dangled  its  feet. 

Brother  Butters  and  Brother  Hyatt  brought  out 
a  box,  which  they  placed  on  the  ground  about  twenty 
feet  from  the  audience.  Brother  Butters  thought 
that  a  little  distance  would  add  dignity  and 
solemnity. 

During  the  preparations  the  similarity  of  the 
chair  arrangement  on  the  platform  to  that  in  the 
minstrel  show  at  the  county  seat,  which  nearly 
everybody  present  had  attended  during  the  preced- 
ing winter,  occurred  to  Tipton  Posey. 

"Mr.  Brown!"  he  called  to  Bill  Stiles  in  the 
center. 

**Yes,  Mr.  Bones!"  responded  Bill,  instantly 
catching  the  spirit  of  the  occasion. 

**Mr.  Brown,  why  is  this  congregation  like  a  ten 
penny  nail?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Bones,  why  this  congregation 
is  like  a  ten  penny  nail.  Why  is  this  congregation 
like  a  ten  penny  nail*?" 

''Because,  Mr.  Brown,  it's  goin'  to  be  driven  in," 
sagely  replied  Mr.  Bones,  with  a  significant  glance 
at  the  gathering  rain  clouds  overhead. 

"Gentlemen,  please  shed  yer  hats!"  said  Brother 
Hyatt,  as  he  pounded  for  order  on  the  box  with  a 

[153] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

carrot  that  he  had  taken  from  a  basket  in  the  store. 
** Brother  Butters  will  now  lead  in  prayer." 

During  the  invocation,  which  was  brief  but  heart- 
felt, Spot  walked  out  and  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  box.  Brother  Butters  and 
Brother  Hyatt  both  ended  the  prayer  with  loud 
amens. 

"Here  are  the  lines  o'  the  first  hymn,"  announced 
Brother  Hyatt. 

"Blow  ye  the  trumpet!   blow 
The  gladly  solemn  sound — 
Let  all  the  nations  know, 
To  earth's  remotest  bound, 
The  day  of  Jubilee  is  come, 
Beturn,  ye  ransomed  sinners,  home  I 

And  now  the  living  waters  flow, 
To  cheer  the  humble  soul; 
From  sea  to  sea  the  rivers  go. 
And  spread  from  pole  to  pole." 

Brother  Butters  then  began  his  discourse,  most  of 
which  consisted  of  written  extracts  from  old  Cal- 
vinistic  exhortations. 

*'Our  sermon  this  afternoon  is  on  the  subject  of 
the  eternity  of  hell  torments,  and  the  text  is  from 
Matthew  25-46:  ''These  shall  go  away  into  ever- 
lasting punishment." 

Brother  Hyatt :— "  A-A-MEN !— Now  feel  ye  the 
sting  of  the  lash  of  the  prophet!" 

"Lo,  on  a  narrow  neck  of  land, 
Twixt  two  unbounded  seas  I  stand, 
Yet  how  insensible ! 
A  point  of  time,  a  moment's  space, 
Eemoves  me  to  yon  heav  'nly  place. 
Or  shuts  me  up  in  hell !  ' ' 

[154] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

Brother  Butters:— ''You  have  a  glorious  oppor- 
tunity today  that  may  never  come  again.    The  door 
of  mercy  is  opened  wide,  but  the  path  that  leads  to 
it  is  long  and  narrow.    A  slight  swerve  leads  to  the 
fiery  pit.    Many  come  from  the  east,  the  west,  the 
north,  the  south,  and  many  fall.    We  may  conceive 
of  the  fierceness  of  that  awful  fire  of  wrath  if  we 
think  of  a  spider,  or  other  noisome  insect,  thrown 
mto  the  midst  of  glowing  coals.    How  immediately 
it  yields,  and  curls,  and  withers  in  the  frightful 
heat!    What  pleasure  we  take  in  its  agonizing  de- 
struction!   Here  is  a  little  image  of  what  ye  may 
expect  if  ye  persist  in  sin,  and  a  picture  of  the  place 
where  pestilential  sinners  wail." 

Brother  Hyatt.— -A-A-MEN!-Oh,  hear  ye  the 
happy  message!" 

' 'Since  man  by  ain  has  lost  his  God, 
He  seeks  creation  through, 
And  vainly  hopes  for  solid  bliss, 
In  trying  something  new." 

Brother  Butters  :--The  thought  comes  to  me  that 
the  row  of  smners  in  yonder  chairs  typifies  sin  in 
its  vilest  form-that  of  a  snake.  Tip  at  one  end 
suggests  the  tail,  and  Dick  Shakes,  whom  ye  call 
'the  Serpent's  Hiss,'  at  the  other,  represents  the 
loathsome  head.  It  was  a  snake  that  carried  sin 
into  the  Garden  of  Eden.  It  is  a  snake  that  con- 
tronts  the  Lord's  servants  at  this  meeting,  and,  in 
my  mind's  eye,  I  see  that  writhing  serpent,  breeze- 
shaken  and  hair-hung,  over  the  yawning  abyss  of 

[155] 


THE  VANISHINO  RIVER 

Brother  Hyatt; — "Can  you  beat  thatf" 

"Oh,  bUssful  thought! 
There  seems  a  voice  in  ev'ry  gale, 
A  tongue  in  ev  'ry  op  'ning  flower !  * ' 

Bill  Stiles:— ''This  is  hot  stuff!" 

Brother  Butters : — ''How  will  the  duration  of  tor- 
ment  without  end  cause  the  heart  to  melt  like  wax! 
Even  those  proud,  sturdy,  and  hell-hardened  spirits, 
the  devils,  tremble  at  the  thoughts  of  that  greater 
torture,  which  they  are  to  suffer  on  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. The  poor  damned  souls  of  men  will  have  their 
misery  vastly  augmented. 

Brother  Hyatt:— "A- A-MEN!— They  will  get  the 
limit!" 

"Oh,  Lord,  behold  me. 
And  see  how  vile  I  am ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters : — The  fierceness  of  a  great  fire, 
as  when  a  house  is  all  in  flames,  gives  one  an  idea 
of  its  rage,  and  we  see  that  the  greater  the  fire  is, 
the  fiercer  is  its  heat  in  every  part,  and  the  reason 
is,  because  one  part  heats  another  part." 

Bill  Stiles: — "If  that  rain  don't  come  pretty  soon 
you  fellers*  talk '11  set  fire  to  that  box!" 

Brother  Hyatt: — "The  mockery  of  sinners  avail- 
eth  not !    Now  listen  to  another  verse ! ' ' 

"I  love  to  tell  the  story, 
'Tis  pleasant  to  repeat 
What  seems  each  time  I  tell  it, 
More  wonder  fully  sweet." 

Brother  Butters : — "We  have  seen  that  the  misery 
of  the  departed  soul  of  a  sinner,  besides  what  it 

[156] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  EEDEMPTION 

now  feels,  consists  in  amazing  fears  of  what  is  yet 
to  come.  When  the  union  of  the  soul  and  the  body 
is  actually  broken,  and  the  body  has  fetched  its 
last  gasp,  the  soul  forsakes  the  old  habitation,  and 
then  falls  into  the  hands  of  devils,  who  fly  upon  it, 
and  sieze  it  more  violently  than  ever  hungry  lions 
flew  upon  their  prey. ' ' 

Brother  Hyatt:— ''A-A-MEN!!!_Oh,  what  a  fin- 
ish !    They  are  no  ice  hunks  there ! ' ' 

"Fresh  as  the  grass  our  bodies  stand, 
And  flourish  bright  as  day — 
A  blasting  wind  sweeps  o  'er  the  land, 
And  fades  the  grass  away ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters:— ''We  now  come  to  the  joy  of 
the  saints  in  heaven  who  behold  the  sufferings  of 
sinners  and  unbaptized  infants  in  hell.  They  shall 
see  their  doleful  state,  and  it  will  heighten  their 
sense  of  blessedness.  When  they  shall  see  the  smoke 
of  their  torment,  and  the  raging  of  the  flames,  and 
hear  their  dolorous  shrieks  and  cries,  and  consider 
that  they  in  the  meantime  are  in  the  most  blissful 
state  for  all  eternity,  how  they  will  rejoice!" 

Brother  Hyatt:— ''Oh,  listen  ye  to  the  comforts 
of  the  church!    Oh,  speed  that  happy  day!" 

"Hark!    Hark!    The  notes  of  joy 
Eoll  0  'er  the  heav  'nly  plains, 
And  all  the  seraphs  find  employ 
For  their  sublimest  strains!" 

Brother  Butters :—"  The  scriptures  plainly  teach 
that  the  saints  in  glory  shall  see  the  doleful  state 
of  the  damned,  and  witness  the  execution  of 
Almighty  wrath." 

[157] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 
Brother  Hyatt:— ''A-A-MEN!'^ 

"Oh,  the  transporting  rapturous  scene, 
That  rises  to  my  sight!" 

Brother  Butters: — ''The  sight  of  hell  torments 
will  exalt  the  happiness  of  the  saints  forever,  and 
give  them  a  more  lively  relish  of  the  joys  of  their 
heavenly  home.  The  righteous  and  the  wicked  in 
the  other  world  will  see  each  other's  state.  Thus 
the  rich  man  in  hell,  and  Lazarus  and  Abraham  in 
heaven,  are  represented  as  seeing  each  other  in  the 
16th  chapter  of  Luke.  The  wicked  in  their  misery 
will  see  the  saints  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven. — Luke 
13-28-29.  '  There  shall  be  weeping  and  gnashing  of 
teeth,  when  ye  shall  see  Abraham  and  Isaac  and 
Jacob,  and  all  the  prophets,  in  the  kingdom  of  God, 
and  you  yourselves  thrust  out." 

Brother  Hyatt : — 

"The  seraphs  bright  are  hov'ring 
Around  the  throne  above — 
Their  harps  are  ever  tuning 
To  thrilling  strains  of  love! 
They'll  tell  the  sweet  old  story 
I  always  loved  so  well! 
Oh,  let  me  float  in  glory 
And  hear  sinners  wail  in  hell  1 ' ' 

Brother  Butters: — "Now  come  we  to  the  procras- 
tination practiced  by  the  average  sinner,  and  in 
Proverbs  27-1  we  find  the  words,  'Boast  not  thyself 
of  to-morrow;  for  thou  knowest  not  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth.'  " 

[158] 


MUSKEAT  HYATT'S  EEDEMPTION 
Brother  Hyatt : — 

"The  lilies  of  the  field, 
That  quickly  fade  away, 
May  well  to  us  a  lesson  yield, 
For  we  are  frail  as  they ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters: — ''Dear  friends,  tomorrow  is 
not  our  own.  There  are  many  ways  and  means 
whereby  the  lives  of  men  are  ended.  It  is  written 
in  the  book  of  Job,  chapter  21,  verse  23,  that  'One 
dieth  in  his  full  strength,  being  wholly  at  ease  and 
quiet.'  " 

Brother  Hyatt:— "A-A-MEN!— Now  listen  ye 
unto  these  words!" 

"Melt,  melt,  these  frozen  hearts, 
These  stubborn  wills  subdue; 
Each  evil  passion  overcome, 
And  form  them  all  anew ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters: — "Oh,  ye  unregenerates,  that 
wallow  in  sin  and  wickedness  on  that  platform !  God 
despises  you,  and  the  flames  await  you!  Go  down 
upon  your  accursed  knees  tonight  and  beseech  sal- 
vation. This  is  Friday,  Saturday  may  be  too  late, 
and  everything  in  the  way  of  grace  may  be  gone ! ' ' 

Brother  Hyatt: — "Slim  chance  fer  this  bunch! 
It's  you  to  the  red  hot  hooks ! ' ' 

"Hark!     What  celestial  notes. 
What  melody  do  we  hear? 
Soft  on  the  mom  it  floats, 
And  fills  the  ravished  ear ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters: — "How  can  you  be  reasonably 
quiet  for  one  day,  or  for  one  night,  when  you  know 
not  when  the  end  will  come  1  If  you  should  be  found 
unregenerate,  how  fearful  would  be  the  consequence ! 

[159] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

Consider  and  barken  unto  this  counsel !  Repent  and 
be  prepared  for  deatb!  Tbe  bow  of  wrath  is  bent, 
the  arrow  is  made  ready  on  the  string,  and  nothing 
but  the  restraint  of  Almighty  anger  keeps  the  arrow 
one  moment  from  being  made  drunk  with  your 
blood!" 

Brother  Hyatt:— ''A-A-MEN!!  A-A-MEN ! !— Oh, 
ye  tight  wads  of  iniquity,  loosen  up,  fer  this  is  the 
last  call!" 

"Let  floods  of  penitential  grief 
Burst  forth  from  ev  'ry  eye ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters : — * '  Be  prepared  for  the  opening 
of  the  eternal  gates  of  pearl  that  are  bathed  in  the 
light  that  shines  for  the  meek  and  the  pure  in  heart. 
The  blessings  of  repentance  are  now  before  you. 
The  choice  of  taking  or  leaving  is  yours ! ' ' 

Brother  Hyatt: — '^Nuthin'  could  be  fairer  than 
that!" 

"Oh,  Bless  the  harps  that  played  the  tune, 
That  brings  us  together  this  afternoon ! ' ' 

Brother  Butters: — "Be  prepared  for  that  awful 
day  of  judgment,  when  the  paths  that  lead  to 
heaven  and  the  paths  that  lead  to  hell  are  divided 
by  the  width  of  a  hair ! ' ' 

Brother  Hyatt :— ' '  A-A-MEN— A-A-MEN ! ! ! " 

"There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood, 
Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins, 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood, 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 

At  this  point  the  rain  descended  out  of  the  kindly 
skies,  the  flaming  oratory  was  extinguished,  and 

[160] 


MUSKRAT  HYATT'S  REDEMPTION 

everybody  retreated  into  the  store.  It  was  getting 
dark,  and  while  the  services  were  not  completed,  the 
exhorters  felt  that  much  spiritual  progress  had 
been  made. 

Most  of  the  regulars  departed  silently  when  the 
shower  was  over. 

**Say,  Rat,  was  that  you  down  on  the  marsh  the 
night  we  tried  the  goose  call?"  asked  Bill  Wirrick. 
'*I  seen  somebody  out  near  the  channel  w'en  them 
funny  streaks  was  in  the  sky.  Since  it  all  come 
out  about  the  goose  call  we  don't  try  to  keep  it  dark 
no  more.  The  fellers  'round  the  store  got  onto  it, 
an'  they've  been  devillin'  the  life  out  o'  me  an'  Tip. 
The  dad  gasted  thing  wouldn't  work  an'  we've  took 
it  apart.  We  tried  to  make  it  sound  like  a  flock  o' 
geese,  but  it  sounded  more  like  a  flock  o'  thunder 
storms.  Them  sky  streaks  that  night  was  a  funny 
thing.  They's  a  paper  here  some'rs  that's  got  it 
all  in.  Lemme  see  if  I  c'n  find  it.  Tip  had  it  yis- 
terd  'y. ' ' 

Wirrick  finally  found  the  newspaper.  Hyatt  took 
it  to  the  dim  kerosene  lamp  and  spent  some  time 
studying  the  long  account  of  the  magnetic  storm. 
It  was  explained  by  scientific  authorities,  and  be- 
moaned by  the  interests  it  had  affected.  The  tele- 
graph and  telephone  companies  had  been  put  out 
of  business  for  several  hours,  and  commerce  had 
suffered  while  Hyatt's  soul  was  being  purified  in 
celestial  fires. 

Disillusionment  came.  As  long  as  the  things  that 
were  going  on  in  this  world  were  natural,  and  could 

[161] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

be  explained,  Rat  saw  no  reason  for  worrying  about 
the  next.  A  cherished  idol  was  shattered ;  his  piety- 
was  dead  sea  fruit. 

With  the  calmness  of  a  cool  gamester,  who  has 
thrown  and  lost  his  all — slightly  pale,  but  with  firm 
and  deliberate  step,  he  went  behind  the  door  and 
secured  the  rifle  and  cartridges  he  had  asked  Bill 
Stiles  to  restore  to  the  swindled  trapper.  With  no 
word  of  farewell  to  those  around  him,  he  lighted  his 
long  neglected  old  pipe,  reeking  with  sin  and  nico- 
tine, whistled  to  Spot,  and  walked  away  down  the 
path  to  the  river  bank  where  the  canoe  had  been 
left,  and  disappeared. 

Brother  Butters  went  out  on  the  platform  and 
looked  longingly  after  him. 

Night  had  fallen  upon  the  river.  Somewhere  far 
away  in  the  purple  gloom,  that  softly  lay  upon  its 
dimpHng  and  restless  tide,  was  a  lost  sheep.  Its 
fleece  had  become  black,  but  it  was  more  precious 
than  the  ninety  and  nine  that  were  still  within  the 
fold. 


[162] 


VII 

THE  TUEKEY  CLUB 


VII 

THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

WE'EE  goin'  to  take  you  up  the  river  to 
the  Turkey  Club  tomorrer,"  announced 
''Rat"  Hyatt,  as  we  left  Posey's  store 
one  night.  "There's  goin'  to  be  some  cloin's  there 
that  you'll  like,  an'  you'll  meet  a  lot  o'  people  you 
never  seen  before,  an'  prob'ly  some  you  won't  never 
want  to  see  ag'in.'^ 

We  had  spent  the  evening  with  the  usual  group 
that  clustered  around  the  smoky  stove  when  the 
weather  rendered  the  platform  outside  uncomfort- 
able. It  was  late  in  the  fall  and  Thanksgiving  was 
only  a  few  days  away,  but  Indian  Summer  still 
lingered,  with  its  purple  days  and  frosty  nights,  and 
I  was  loth  to  leave  the  river  country  while  it  lasted. 

The  council  around  the  stove  often  varied  in  com- 
position, but  not  in  character.  It  was  always  pic- 
turesque, not  only  in  its  light  and  shade  and  color, 
but  in  the  primitive  philosophy,  spontaneous  wit, 
original  profanity  and  ornate  narrative  that  issued 
from  it. 

On  this  occasion  ''Pop"  Wilkins  had  told,  with 
much  circumstantial  detail,  a  long  story  about  his 
old  plug  hat.    He  said  it  "was  minted  about  thirty 

[165] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

years  ago  some  'rs  down  east, ' '  and  was  bought  for 
him  by  subscription  by  the  congregation  over  which 
he  at  that  time  presided.  The  hat  was  in  the  Alle- 
gheny river  a  couple  of  days  during  its  journey  to 
his  address,  but  when  it  finally  got  to  him  the  con- 
gregation had  it  all  fixed  up  so  that  everybody  said 
it  was  just  as  good  as  new.  Since  then  he  had  only 
had  to  have  it  repaired  twice.  He  had  a  great  affec- 
tion for  it,  on  account  of  its  old  associations,  and 
hoped  that  it  would  be  buried  with  him  when  he 
died — a  hope  that  was  shared  by  all  present.  The 
old  plug  was  an  echo  of  years  long  departed  and  a 
never-failing  butt  of  merry  jest.  The  tickets  of  all 
the  raffles  that  had  ever  been  held  in  that  part  of 
the  country,  that  anybody  could  remember,  had  been 
shaken  up  in  Pop's  hat. 

The  old  man's  story  had  reminded  his  listeners 
of  others,  and  it  was  quite  late  when  Posey  remarked 
that  he  was  going  upstairs  to  bed,  and  ''to  keep 
things  from  bein*  carried  off"  he  was  *'goin'  to 
lock  up." 

At  ten  the  next  morning  five  of  us  started  up 
stream  in  three  of  the  small  boats  that  were  usually 
attached  to  stakes  under  the  bridge.  Hyatt  and  I 
were  in  his  duck  canoe,  which  he  skilfully  propelled 
with  his  long  paddle.  Posey  and  Pop  Wilkins  fol- 
lowed, in  a  leaky  green  craft  with  squeaky  oars. 
Far  in  the  rear  Bill  Stiles  stemmed  the  gentle  cur- 
rent in  his  ''push  boat,"  which  he  declared  was 
never  intended  for  anybody  but  him.  This  idea  had 
been  generally  accepted  along  the  river,  for  Bill's 

[166] 


"Bill"    Styles 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

boat  was  the  only  one  for  many  miles  up  and  down 
stream  that  had  never  been  borrowed  or  stolen. 
The  fact  that  it  was  so  "tippy"  that  nobody  but 
Bill  seemed  to  be  able  to  sit  in  it  without  being 
spilled  into  the  river  accounted  for  its  immunity. 

''Some  day,"  remarked  Bill,  *'a  cold  wet 
stranger '11  come  to  the  store  to  git  warm,  an'  tell 
some  kind  of  a  story  about  fallin'  off  en  the  bridge 
into  the  river,  but  ev'rybody'll  know  what's  hap- 
pened. Nobody  that's  acquainted  'round  'ere '11  ever 
try  to  navigate  with  my  push  boat. ' ' 

He  called  the  craft ' '  The  Flapjack. ' '  The  roughly 
lettered  name  appeared  in  yellow  paint  on  each  side 
of  the  bow,  and  to  his  subtle  mind,  it  was  a  sufficient 
warning  to  the  unwary.  He  said  that  the  name  was 
also  lettered  along  the  bottom  of  the  boat  under- 
neath, **an'  anybody  that  wants  to  c'n  take  e'r  out'n 
the  river  an'  read  it.  She  won't  keep  'im  wait'n 
more'n  a  few  minutes." 

The  river  was  low  and  we  scraped  gently  over  a 
few  sand  bars  on  the  way  up.  After  proceeding 
about  two  miles  we  came  to  a  wobbly  and  much 
patched  bridge,  on  which  were  several  figures.  A 
fringe  of  cane  fish  poles  drooped  idly  from  its  sides. 
The  figures  were  motionless  and  would  remain  so 
until  the  Turkey  Club  activities  began. 

''Here's  where  we  git  off,"  said  Hyatt,  as  we 
turned  in  near  the  bridge.  We  waited  for  the  rest 
of  the  flotilla  to  come  up.  When  our  party  had  all 
arrived  we  climbed  a  zig-zag  path  and  walked  along 
the  road  to  the  little  gray  church  a  few  hundred  feet 

[167] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

away.  It  was  here  that  the  Reverend  Daniel  Butters 
— ''The  Javelin  of  the  Lord" — was  wont  to  expound 
the  gospels,  formulate  dreary  doctrines,  and  to  de- 
pict the  frightfulness  of  damnation  to  his  superan- 
nuated and  docile  flock. 

So  far  as  human  faith  and  opinion  could  influence 
the  destinies  of  any  of  these  aged  and  serene  be- 
lievers, their  spiritual  safety  had  been  assured  for 
many  years.  They  went  regularly  to  church,  prin- 
cipally because  they  wanted  to  be  seen  there,  and 
because  they  had  nothing  else  particularly  to  do  or 
think  about  Sundays.  Alas,  how  the  ranks  of 
worldly  worshipers  would  dwindle  were  it  not  for 
these  things! 

Like  that  of  many  preachers,  the  voice  of  Butters 
was  of  one  crying  in  a  desert  to  passing  airs  and 
unheeding  sands.  There  were  none  to  succor  or 
uplift,  and  none  to  be  beckoned  to  the  fold.  They 
were  all  in,  and  further  effort  was  painting  the  lily 
and  adding  perfume  to  the  rose.  The  strife  was 
won,  but  yet  he  battled  on.  The  great  tide  of  human 
error  flowed  far  beyond  his  ken,  and  he  could  drag 
no  spiritual  spoil  from  its  turbid  waters. 

In  fancy  his  religious  establishment  might  be 
likened  to  a  cocoon,  into  which  none  might  enter, 
and  from  which  none  might  emerge,  except  in  a  new 
and  glorified  state. 

Some  mournful  Lombardy  poplars  stood  in  front 
of  the  unpainted  structure,  and  on  one  side  was  the 
little  cemetery,  with  its  serried  mounds  and  conven- 
tional epitaphs.    A  weeping  willow  wept  near  the 

[1681 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

center  of  the  plot,  some  rabbits  hopped  about  near 
the  broken  fence  at  the  farther  side  of  the  enclosure, 
and  a  stray  cow  fed  peacefully  among  the  leaning 
slabs. 

' '  There 's  a  lot  o '  people  represented  in  that  flock 
o^  tombstones,"  observed  Hyatt,  as  we  turned  in 
from  the  road,  ''an'  they's  a  lot  o'  cussedness  out 
there  that  it's  a  good  thing  to  have  covered  up." 

Both  physically  and  spiritually  the  old  church  was 
a  dismal  remnant,  but  it  was  the  regional  social  cen- 
ter. The  building  was  utilized  in  many  profane 
ways  that  saddened  the  pious  heart  of  the  Reverend 
Butters,  but  to  him,  its  crowning  desecration  was 
the  Turkey  Club. 

The  membership  of  this  unique  organization  com- 
prised practically  all  of  the  male  population  within 
eight  or  ten  miles  up  and  down  the  river — and  Sophy 
Perkins,  of  whom  more  hereafter.  Most  of  the  small 
politicians  of  the  county  were  affiliated  with  the 
club,  and  used  it  for  such  propaganda  as  from  time 
to  time  befitted  their  objects  and  petty  ambitions. 
Originally  its  purpose  was  to  foster  and  finance  the 
annual  "turkey  shoot."  This  popular  event  usually 
just  preceded  Thanksgiving,  and  was  the  occasion 
of  a  general  holiday. 

During  the  forty  odd  years  of  the  club's  existence 
it  had  gradually  broadened  the  scope  of  its  early 
activities  until  it  became  more  or  less  identified  with 
pretty  much  everything  of  a  local  public  character. 
Its  only  rival  as  a  social  focus  was  Posey's  store. 

Under  its  auspices  the  Fourth  of  July,  golden 

[169] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEK 

weddings,  and  other  anniversaries,  were  celebrated. 
Dances,  amateur  theatricals,  old  settlers'  picnics, 
tax  protest  meetings,  lectures,  political  ''rallies," 
** grand  raffles,"  dog  and  chicken  fights,  greased  pig 
contests,  quilting  bees,  ministerial  showers  and  other 
affairs  were  ''pulled  off"  during  the  year.  The 
ministerial  showers  were  about  the  only  functions 
that  the  Reverend  Butters  did  not  consider  unholy. 

There  were  special  meetings  for  discussion  of 
diverse  subjects,  including  the  mistakes  of  congress, 
advice  to  the  President,  the  tariff,  the  oppressions 
of  capital,  the  tyranny  of  labor,  prohibition,  the 
negro  question,  restriction  of  immigration,  Shakes- 
peare criticism,  the  Wrongs  of  Ireland,  and  a  host 
of  other  things  that  generated  heat  and  lasting 
acrimony.  The  meetings  sometimes  approached 
turbulency  when  some  over-zealous  orator  gave  vent 
to  unpopular  ideas,  or  made  statements  that  seemed 
to  justify  somebody  in  the  audience  in  calling  him 
a  liar.  Few  participants  ever  left  convinced  of 
anything  in  particular,  except  the  correctness  of  the 
opinions  they  had  brought  with  them. 

We  found  a  gathering  of  about  a  hundred  club 
members  and  numerous  small  boys  in  the  grove  back 
of  the  church.  We  strolled  about  through  the  crowd 
and  I  was  introduced  by  my  companions  to  a  number 
of  their  old  friends. 

Bill  was  the  official  head  of  the  club  and  deservedly 
popular.  To  the  small  boys  he  was  a  deified  person- 
age. His  constitutional  title  was  "Chief  Gobbler," 
and  he  bore  it  with  easy  grace  and  a  quiet  air  of 

[170] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

noblesse  oblige.  His  opinion  prevailed  on  club  mat- 
ters, except  when  Sophy  Perkins  was  in  contact  with 
the  situation,  and  this  was  most  of  the  time. 

Sophy  was  the  secretary,  treasurer,  general  man- 
ager, board  of  directors,  and,  to  her  mind,  consti- 
tuted the  greater  part  of  the  membership,  although 
her  duties  were  supposed  to  be  merely  clerical.  All 
her  life  she  had  yearned  for  something  besides  her 
husband  to  regulate  and  superintend,  and  the  Tur- 
key Club  had  been  a  godsend. 

She  was  a  somewhat  attenuated  female,  on  the 
regretful  side  of  fifty.  Her  physiognomy  was  re- 
pelling and  expressed  characteristics  of  an  alley 
cat.  There  was  a  predatory  gleam  in  her  narrowly 
placed  greenish  eyes.  They  bespoke  malignant 
jealousy  and  relentless  cupidity.  She  seemed  en- 
veloped by  an  atmosphere — vague  and  indefinable — 
that  prompted  cautious  and  immediate  retirement 
from  her  vicinity.  In  private  conversation  she  was 
commonly  referred  to  as  ''The  Stinger,"  and  the 
soubriquet  seemed  to  have  been  justly  earned  by  a 
badly  speckled  record  of  secret  intrigue  and  under- 
handed methods.  Anonymous  letters,  petty  trickery 
and  duplicity  in  manifold  forms  were  included  in 
the  misdeeds  that  had  been  tacitly  laid  at  Sophy's 
door. 

She  was  of  that  female  type  that  demands  all 
male  privileges,  in  addition  to  those  of  her  own  sex, 
and  she  often  took  advantage  of  the  fact  that  she 
was  a  woman  to  do  and  say  things  that  she  would 
probably  have  been  knocked  down  for  if  she  had  been 

[171] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

a  man — one  of  the  most  contemptible  forms  of  cow- 
ardice. 

Her  shortcomings  were  legion,  but  nobody  else 
was  available  who  was  willing  to  carry  the  burden 
of  the  clerical  duties  of  the  club,  and  she  was  allowed 
to  run  things  to  her  heart's  content.  Her  main  re- 
ward was  the  occasional  mention  of  her  name  in  the 
county  paper,  in  connection  with  the  activities  of 
the  club.  She  treasured  the  carefully  garnered  clip- 
pings and  gloated  over  them  through  the  dreary 
years.  To  her  they  were  precious  incense,  and, 
while  they  gratified,  but  never  satisfied  her  vanity 
and  hunger  for  notoriety,  they  were  the  compensa- 
tion of  her  narrow  and  disappointed  life,  and  the 
food  of  her  impoverished  and  selfish  spirit. 

She  was  without  the  consolations  of  religion,  the 
resources  of  culture,  or  the  sweet  recompense  of 
children's  voices,  to  soften  the  asperities  of  her 
fruitless  existence.  The  gray  hairs  had  come  and 
there  was  no  love  around  Sophy,  for  she  had  sent 
forth  none  during  the  period  of  life  in  which  temples 
of  the  soul  must  be  builded,  if  kindly  light  beams 
from  their  windows,  and  there  be  fit  sanctuary  for 
the  weary  spirit  in  the  after  years. 

Successive  official  heads  of  the  club,  who  seemed 
to  be  attracting  more  public  attention  than  Sophy, 
were  submarined,  made  officially  sick,  and  retired 
gracefully.  The  supply  of  these  official  heads  finally 
became  restricted,  and  for  the  past  few  years  Bill's 
incumbency  had  been  undisturbed,  although  he  fre- 
quently threatened  to  ** throw  up  the  job." 

[172] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

J.  Montgomery  Perkins  was  a  subdued  helpmate. 
He  was  an  inoffensive  little  man,  who  was  always 
alluded  to  as  ''Sophy's  husband,"  and  when  this 
happened  somebody  would  usually  exclaim  sympa- 
thetically, ''Poor  Perk!" 

Of  late  years  the  club  had  suffered  from  "too 
much  Sophy  Perkins."  Interest  had  begun  to  lag 
and  apathy  was  creeping  over  the  membership. 

"You  want  to  look  out  fer  Sophy,"  confided 
Hyatt,  before  I  had  met  her.  "She's  got  a  lot  o' 
wires  loose  in  the  upper  story,  but  she  knows  where 
the  ends  of  all  of  'em  are  when  they's  anything  in 
it  fer  her." 

Promptly  at  2  P.M.  Bill  pounded  with  a  big  stick 
on  a  board  that  was  sustained  at  the  ends  by  the 
heads  of  two  resonant  barrels.  The  confused  hum 
of  voices  ceased  and  the  eyes  of  the  scattered  groups 
were  upon  him.  Sophy  whispered  to  him  that  he 
was  now  to  announce  the  opening  of  the  shoot.  It 
was  Bill's  intention  to  do  this  anyway,  but  Sophy 
thought  it  better  that  she  should  take  part  in  what 
was  going  on.  Substantially  his  remarks  were  as 
follows : 

"Gentlemen  and  One  Lady:  This  ain't  no  time 
fer  a  long  speech.  The  annual  turkey  shoot  o'  this 
club's  now  on,  an'  anybody  that's  paid  'is  dues  an' 
'is  entrance  fee  c'n  git  in  on  the  game.  Ten  fat 
an'  husky  birds  are  in  them  boxes,  an'  the  boxes 
are  fifty  yards  from  the  rope  that's  stretched  be- 
tween them  two  trees,  an'  that's  the  shoot 'n  stand. 
The  chair  has  made  the  meas  'erments.    The  birds  '11 

[173] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

keep  their  heads  poked  up  out  o'  the  holes  in  the 
tops  o'  the  boxes  to  rubber  at  the  scenery,  an'  they 
gotta  be  killed  by  a  bullet  in  the  head  er  neck. 
Hit'n  'em  through  the  boxes  don't  go  this  year  like 
it  did  last.  Them  stone  piles  is  to  protect  'em  up 
to  the  tops.  Any  eggs  found  in  the  boxes  after 
the  shoot 'n  belongs  to  the  winners.  Ev'ry  shooter '11 
have  ten  shots  for  'is  dollar,  an'  'e  must  stand  an' 
shoot  without  rest'n  'is  rifle  on  anything  but  'imself. 
No  bullet  bigger 'n  yer  thumb's  allowed.  If  you  bust 
the  bird's  head,  er  break  'is  neck,  it's  yours,  an'  if 
you  don't  hit  nuth'n  in  the  first  ten  shots  you  c'n 
buy  more  chances  as  long  as  the  turkeys  an'  yer 
money  last.  The  money  from  the  shoot 'n '11  go  to 
pay  fer  the  fowls,  an'  if  they's  any  live  ones  left 
after  the  show,  they'll  be  auctioned  off  to  the  high- 
est bidders,  if  they  don't  git  insulted  by  the  low 
bids  an'  fly  off  with  the  boxes. 

"I  guess  I've  told  all  they  is  to  say,  but  if  they's 
anything  anybody  don't  understand,  er  if  anybody's 
got  any  kick  comin ',  speak  up.  Oh,  yes,  I  f ergot  to 
say  there  '11  be  a  booby  prize  of  a  little  tin  horn  with 
a  purple  ribbon  on  it,  fer  them  that  can't  shoot 
should  be  allowed  to  toot.  If  they  ain't  no  objection 
the  shoot 'n '11  now  conunence.'* 

With  another  loud  bang  on  the  board  the  address 
closed  and  the  crowd  drifted  toward  the  taut  rope. 

"Hold  on  there!"  yelled  Sophy  Perkins,  fran- 
tically waving  a  small  book.  ''Nobody's  paid  a  cent 
yet!" 

''You  fellers '11  have  to  ante  up  before  any  blood 

[174] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

runs!'*  shouted  Bill  as  he  again  pounded  the  board. 

Nineteen  contestants  qualified  at  the  barrel  behind 
which  Sophy  presided.  Her  fishy  orbs  lighted  up 
at  the  sight  of  the  money,  which  she  deftly  deposited 
in  her  stocking  after  modestly  turning  her  back  to 
the  crowd. 

''She'll  chaperone  that  cash  to  the  day  o*  the 
resurrection  if  somebody  don't  kep  tab  on  it,"  said 
Hyatt  in  an  undertone  as  the  proceeds  disappeared 
among  the  mysteries  of  Sophy's  apparel.  We're 
goin'  to  put  rollers  under  that  old  girl  some  day,  but 
we  can't  do  it  till  we  c'n  git  somebody  else  willin' 
to  do  the  work." 

Posey  and  Hyatt  were  provided  with  firearms, 
and  Pop  Wilkins  had  brought  an  old-fashioned 
muzzle  loading  rifle  with  a  long  barrel,  which  he 
handled  with  much  tenderness. 

''I  used  to  shoot  lady-bugs  off  en  the  edges  o' 
the  leaves  on  the  tops  o'  high  trees  with  this  old 
iron  when  I  was  young  an'  spry,  an'  mebbe  I'll  hit 
sump'n  with  it  today,"  he  declared,  as  he  ambled 
over  toward  the  shooting  stand. 

*■ '  I  didn  't  bring  no  gun,  an '  I  won 't  do  no  shoot  'n, ' ' 
remarked  Bill.  *'It  wouldn't  be  dignified  fer  me  as 
head  of  the  club,  an'  it  wouldn't  be  fair  fer  the  rest 
fer  me  to  shoot.  It  'ud  be  like  swip'n  candy  from 
little  boys." 

As  Bill  had  not  been  known  to  kill  anything  with 
a  gun  for  over  twenty  years,  his  explanation  was 
accepted  without  comment. 

Mr.  Joshua  T.  Varney  appeared  at  this  stage  of 

[175] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

the  proceedings,  and  offered  to  take  two  dollars* 
worth  of  chances  and  pay  three  dollars  preniium  if 
he  could  have  the  first  trial  and  twenty  successive 
shots.  As  it  usually  took  a  great  many  shots  to  hit 
a  turkey  *s  head  at  fifty  yards,  his  proposition  was 
accepted  after  some  discussion. 

"Josh"  Vamey  was  a  traveling  salesman,  who 
for  several  years  had  periodically  visited  Posey's 
store,  on  his  rounds  through  the  county,  and  sold 
supplies  adapted  to  the  general  country  trade. 

He  was  a  smooth  faced  man  of  about  forty,  with 
keen  gray  eyes,  a  good  story  teller,  and  from  him 
radiated  the  assurance  and  suavity  of  his  kind.  He 
had  always  been  a  ''good  mixer,"  and  was  consid- 
ered an  all  around  good  fellow.  He  had  joined  the 
club  two  years  before,  but  had  never  attended  a 
''shoot." 

He  went  to  his  buggy,  that  stood  near  the  road- 
side among  numerous  other  vehicles,  and  returned 
with  a  small  repeating  rifle.  He  then  stepped  over 
to  the  rope  and  began  shooting  at  the  bobbing  heads 
above  the  boxes.  In  this  way  hundreds  of  venerable 
gobblers  and  dignified  hen  turkeys  had  lost  their 
lives  in  past  years  through  innocent  curiosity  as  to 
the  doings  of  the  outside  world. 

The  birds  were  all  dead  when  Mr.  Vamey  had 
fired  fourteen  times.  Quiet  but  well  chosen  profanity 
troubled  the  air  when  the  tenth  bird  succumbed  and 
the  performance  was  ended. 

Bill  again  belabored  the  board  and  announced 
the  end  of  the  contest. 

[176] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

''Gentlemen,  you  prob'ly  notice  that  the  shoot 'n^s 
all  over!    Sump'n  has  been  done  unto  us,  an'  some- 
body has  had  an  elegant  pastime.    This  ain't  been 
no  turkey  shoot,  it's  been  a  horr'ble  massacre,  an' 
after  this  all  Deadwood  Dicks '11  be  barred,  unless 
they  git  a  mile  away  when  they  shoot  at  anything 
'round  'ere.    We  better  kill  our  turkeys  with  axes 
after  this,  an'  only  sell  the  chance  o'  one  whopp. 
We  ain't  got  but  one  booby  prize,  an'  I  guess  you 
all  better  take  turns  blowin'  on  it.  This  ain't  been  no 
kind  of  a  day,  an '  it 's  come  to  a  sad  end.    The  club  '11 
now  perceed  to  its  annual  business,  an'  as  the  day 
is  nice  an'  warm  we  might  as  well  do  it  out  doors 
'stid  0'  goin'  in  an'  muss'n  up  the  church.    Sophy, 
what  you  got  on  the  fire  that  'as  to  be  'tended  to?'' 
''They  ain't  no  business  that  I  can't  tend  to  my- 
self," replied  Sophy  grimly.    ''The  treasurer's  re- 
port's been  left  home  by  accident,  an'  they  ain't 
nuth'n  else  to  come  up,   'less  somebody  wants  to 
pay  dues,  or  you  want  to  'lect  some  new  members." 
With  this  she  favored  me  with  a  stealthy  sidelong 
glance  and  I  was  thereupon  proposed  for  member- 
ship by  Rat  Hyatt,  who  added  that  I  seemed  to  be 
the  ''only  outsider  present  from  a  distance  that 
hadn't  homswoggled  the  club  durin'  the  past  hour." 
Sophy's  talon-like  fingers  closed  quickly  on  the 
two-dollar  bill  that  I  handed  her  as  the  first  year's 
dues,  after  my  election  and  the  formal  adjournment 
of  the  meeting. 

While  I  was  entirely  out  of  sympathy  with  the 
[177] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

turkey  shoots,  I  was  glad  for  several  reasons  to 
become  a  member. 

After  most  of  the  crowd  had  dispersed  I  was  sol- 
emnly conducted  into  the  church  and  informed  that, 
in  order  to  become  a  full-fledged  member,  certain 
things  must  be  imparted  to  me  to  complete  my  initia- 
tion. I  was  then  told  that  all ' '  Turkeys ' '  knew  each 
other  by  certain  grips  and  cabalistic  words.  The 
**grip"  consisted  of  shaking  hands  with  three  fin- 
gers only,  representing  the  three  front  toes  of  a 
turkey.  The  ''countersign"  was  ''Pop-Pop!"  sig- 
nifying rifle  firing  at  the  annual  shoot.  The  coun- 
tersign, loudly  uttered,  with  three  fingers  held  aloft, 
constituted  "the  grand  high  sign,"  and  I  was  told 
that  I  must  always  relieve  any  brother  Turkey  who 
hungered  or  thirsted,  and  made  such  a  sign.  With 
my  promise  to  remember  all  this,  the  ceremony, 
which  my  instructors.  Bill  and  Eat,  considered  very 
humorous,  was  ended. 

The  Reverend  Butters  had  been  a  sorrowful  spec- 
tator of  the  proceedings  of  the  afternoon,  but  his 
furrowed  face  brightened  when  Josh  Varney  grace- 
fully presented  him  with  one  of  the  big  dripping 
birds  that  he  was  carrying  to  his  buggy.  In  prayer 
before  his  congregation  on  the  following  Sunday  he 
expressed  humble  gratitude  with  the  words,  "Out 
of  the  iniquities  of  the  world,  0  Lord,  has  sus- 
tenance come  to  the  body  of  thy  servant,  and  be- 
neath a  cloak  of  sin  have  Thy  blessings  been  trans- 
mitted unto  Thine  anointed  one." 

The  relations  between  the  old  preacher  and  Rat 

[178] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

Hyatt  had  been  slightly  embarrassing  since  Rat's 
conversion  and  sudden  backsliding  of  the  year  be- 
fore, and  they  had  little  to  say  to  each  other  when 
they  met.  Rat  was  now  regarded  as  a  hopeless  loss 
and  a  minute  part  of  hell's  future  fuel  supply.  He 
considered'his  former  spiritual  comforter  "a  busted 
wind  bag,"  so  there  seemed  little  left  to  say  on 
either  side. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  boats  I  reflected  on  the 
degrading  entertainment  of  the  afternoon.    Outside 
of  what  Pop  Wilkins  called  ''the  homing  in  of  that 
turkey  pirate,"  the  day  was  considered  a  success. 
The  well  aimed  bullets  had  thrilled  the  spectators 
with  savage  joy,  for  somewhere  in  the  heart  of 
nearly  every  average  human  abides  the  primitive 
lust  for  blood.     The  marksmanship  might  just  as 
well  have  been  exhibited  on  inanimate  and  unsuf- 
fering  targets.     The  helpless  turkeys  in  the  boxes 
gratified  the  baser  instincts  to  the  extent  of  their 
limitations,  and  when  they  were  all  dead  the  crowd 
went  home  as  happy  as  if  it  had  been  to  a  bull  fight, 
a  prize  ring,  or  to  any  other  brutal  spectacle  dis- 
guised by  pretended  admiration  of  scientific  ability. 
On  the  way  back  down  the  river,  our  boats  kept  close 
together  and  there  was  much  discussion  over  the 
day's  events. 

Pop  Wilkins  delivered  a  long  tirade  against  Var- 
ney,  and  wound  up  by  modestly  admitting  that  prob- 
ably he  would  have  beheaded  all  of  the  birds  with 
his  squirrel  rifle  if  he  had  had  the  opportunity,  so 

[179] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEE 

after  all  it  was  merely  a  question  as  to  who  shot 
first. 

''That  feller  c'd  prob'ly  thread  needles  with  that 
damn  rifle,"  observed  Bill.  ''I've  read  o'  fellers 
that  had  telescope  eyes  an'  a  sixth  sense  that  some- 
how couldn't  miss  nuth'n  they  ever  shot  at.  They 
c'd  plunk  holes  wherever  they  wanted  to,  like  they 
was  use  'n  a  gimlet.  I  wonder  what  'e  wasted  them 
four  extry  catritches  fer?  Prob'ly  so's  to  make  a 
nice  sociable  feel'n  all  'round  an'  make  'em  think 
it  wasn't  quite  so  raw.  He  prob'ly  goes  to  shoots 
all  over  the  country  an'  sells  the  plunder  in  the 
market. ' ' 

The  chill  winds  of  a  desolate  winter  had  swept 
through  the  naked  woods  along  the  river,  and  a 
balmy  May  had  come,  with  its  tender  unfolding 
leaves  of  hope  and  perfumed  blossoms,  when  Josh 
Vamey  again  appeared  on  the  scene. 

''Well!  Well!  How's  everybody?"  he  shouted 
genially  as  he  drove  up  in  front  of  Posey's  store  one 
forenoon  with  a  roan  horse  and  a  smart  new  buggy. 

"We're  slowly  git'n  well.  Say,  Perfessor,  you 
ain't  got  no  gun  with  you,  have  you?"  queried  Bill, 
as  the  pair  shook  hands.  ' '  'Cause  if  you  have  they 's 
a  lot  of  us  that's  goin'  to  hide  some  poultry." 

"Now,  look  'ere  Bill,  you  don't  want  to  be  sore 
'bout  that  little  shoot 'n  last  fall.  I  gave  all  them 
turkeys  to  some  poor  people,  an'  they  done  a  lot 
o'  good.  I  just  happened  to  hit  'em,  an'  I  couldn't 
repeat  that  performance  in  a  hundred  years." 

"You  bet  you  couldn't  'round  'ere  if  we  seen  you 

[180] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

first,"  replied  Bill.  ''I'd  hate  to  furnish  turkeys 
fer  you  to  shoot  at  fer  a  hundred  years,  an  I'd  hate 
to  be  the  poor  people  wait'n  fer  you  to  feed  the 
birds  to  'em.  Say,  what  you  got  up  yer  sleeve  this 
trip?    Sump'n  still  funnier,  I  s'pose." 

Posey  was  busy  with  a  customer,  and  Varney  re- 
mained with  us  on  the  platform.  He  produced  some 
murky  and  doubtful  cigars  that  Bill  declared  looked 
like  genuine  ''El  Hempos"  and  we  smoked  and 
talked  for  some  time.  Pop  Wilkins  joined  us,  and 
Sophy  Perkins  arrived  at  the  store  to  purchase  some 
calico.  She  bestowed  a  reserved  nod  and  a  feline 
glance  on  Varney,  and  greeted  the  rest  of  the  party 
with  scant  politeness.  She  stood  just  inside,  near 
the  entrance,  and  utilized  the  time  Posey  was  spend- 
ing with  his  other  customer  in  listening  to  our  con- 
versation. She  soon  became  so  absorbed  in  it  that 
she  forgot  all  about  her  calico  and  remained  riveted 
to  her  point  of  vantage.  Posey  respected  her  pre- 
occupation and  busied  himself  with  other  things 
after  his  first  visitor  had  left  through  the  side  door. 

The  chairs  outside  were  tipped  against  the  long 
window  sill,  and  the  party  was  making  itself  com- 
fortable in  the  spring  sunshine.  Varney  was  relat- 
ing a  wondrous  tale,  and  was  fully  aware  of  the 
acute  eavesdropping  within.  Many  of  the  romantic 
touches  in  his  discourse  were  apparently  for  Sophy's 
benefit. 

"I  got  a  long  letter  from  a  friend  of  mine,"  said 
Josh,  as  he  felt  through  his  inside  pockets,  "an*  I 
wish  I  had  it  with  me,  but  I  guess  I  've  left  it  some- 

[181] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

where.  He's  making  a  trip  'round  the  world  an' 
'e  writes  me  that  in  India  he  ran  across  a  marvellous 
breed  of  turkeys.  You  know  turkeys  originated  in 
India,  an'  they  come  from  there  first  about  five  hun- 
dred years  ago.  These  strange  birds  he  writes 
about  live  away  up  in  the  Himalaya  mountains  and 
are  pure  white.  They're  much  larger  than  ordinary 
turkeys,  an'  their  color  adapts  'em  to  the  snowy 
peaks,  an'  protects  'em  from  the  natives  when  they 
pursue  'em  out  o'  the  valleys,  where  they  go  to  eat 
frogs  along  the  water  courses.  They  live  almost 
entirely  on  frogs  when  they  c'n  git  'em.  When 
they're  disturbed  they  wing  back  to  the  frozen 
heights,  an'  sometimes  don't  come  down  for  a  year. 
"When  they're  hunted  up  there  they  fly  from  crag 
to  crag  an'  they're  almost  invisible,  an'  its  a  funny 
thing,  but  their  meat's  all  white,  too.  They  ain't 
no  dark  meat  on  'em  like  there  is  on  common 
turkeys. 

They  lay  enormous  eggs  an'  the  eggs  generally 
have  two  yolks.  Sometimes  twins  hatch  out  of  'em. 
The  double  yolks  give  an  extra  amount  of  vitality 
to  the  young  turks,  which  is  necessary  up  among 
the  cold  rocks  where  they're  hatched. 

''The  eggs  have  a  delicious  spicy  flavor  that  comes 
from  the  spearmint  and  other  pungent  plants  that 
the  frogs  nibble  along  the  streams.  The  eggs  are 
highly  prized  by  epicures,  an'  there's  a  Frenchman 
livin'  in  Bombay  that  pays  two  rupees  apiece  for 
all  'e  c'n  git  of  'em.  He  makes  what  'e  calls 
*  omelets  defrog  secondaire/  or  something  like  that, 

[182] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

with  'em,  an '  'e  says  there 's  nothing  like  'em.  With 
him  its  hen  eggs  no  more. 

** There's  a  sacred  caste  in  India  called  the 
Brahmins,  and  they  believe  that  these  white  turkeys 
are  what  they  call  reincarnations  of  a  supernatural 
race  of  beings  that  ruled  the  earth  before  man 
existed. 

''Somebody  ought  to  import  some  o'  them  turkeys 
an'  breed  'em  in  this  country.  Along  a  river  like 
this  they'd  find  plenty  to  eat  an'  they  wouldn't  be 
no  expense  at  all.  My  friend  writes  that  'e  hopes 
to  bring  two  or  three  back  with  him  when  'e  comes 
home,  an'  I'm  anxious  to  see  'em.  Oh,  yes,  come 
to  think  of  it,  I  put  a  photograph  in  my  pocket  book 
that  was  in  the  letter. ' ' 

Vamey  thereupon  produced  a  kodak  print  of  a 
stately  white  bird.  Some  figures  in  oriental  cos- 
tume, somewhat  out  of  focus  and  indistinct,  were 
grouped  back  of  it  in  the  picture.  Vamey  explained 
that  these  were  Brahmins  and  native  hunters. 

SxDphy  peeked  over  the  pile  of  straw  hats  in  the 
window  and  had  a  good  look  at  the  photograph  as 
Vamey  deftly  held  it  so  that  it  could  be  seen  from 
that  direction  without  appearing  to  do  so. 

We  were  greatly  entertained  by  the  story. 

"Say,  Perfessor,"  asked  Bill,  "what  do  them 
fowls  an'  their  young  ones  feed  on  when  they  don't 
git  off  en  the  snow  an'  go  down  fer  frogs?  Do  they 
have  to  have  the  frogs  fer  their  complexions  ? ' ' 

"That's  the  strange  part  of  it,"  replied  Varney. 
**You  see  they  sor+  o'  lead  double  lives.    Nature  is 

[183] 


THE  VANISHING  ETVER 

wonderful  in  all  her  works.  In  the  Himalayas 
there's  a  small  red  mosquito  that  has  never  been 
found  except  away  above  the  timber  line.  They  have 
'em  out  west  in  this  country,  too.  They  sometimes 
cover  the  snow  so  thick  that  it  looks  like  blood,  an' 
the  little  turks  patter  'round  on  the  drifts  an'  eaf 
'em  with  voracity,  an'  the  big  ones  do,  too." 

**  'Voracity,'  what's  that — sump'n  their  mixed 
with?"  asked  Bill. 

"No,  it  means  their  awful  appetite." 

''I'd  s'pose  them  skeets  'ud  make  the  turkey  meat 
taste  kin  o'  nippy  an'  prickly,  sort  o'  red-pepper 
like,"  observed  Bill,  winking  solemnly  in  our  direc- 
tion.   "It  oughta  be  hot  stuff." 

"The  insects  make  the  finest  kind  o'  food  for 
'em,"  continued  Vamey,  ignoring  Bill's  gentle 
raillery,  and  the  incredulous  smiles  of  the  rest  of 
us.  "When  the  mosquito  crop's  extra  good  they 
get  so  fat  they  can't  fly  or  run  very  far,  and  are 
easily  caught.  When  they're  lean  they  c'n  run  like 
a  race  horse.  The  bird  that's  in  the  picture  weighed 
nearly  seventy  pounds  when  'e  was  captured.  He 
couldn't  fly,  an'  'e  was  chased  into  a  cleft  in  a  big 
rock  and  a  net  was  slipped  over  'im.  The  man  that 
caught  'im  was  named  Bungush  Swamee,  an  'e  was 
a  famous  hunter.  You  see  everybody  has  funny 
names  in  India." 

"What  was  that  Bungush  feller  doin'  up  there 
with  a  net?"  asked  Pop  Wilkins.  "Did  'e  s'pect 
to  find  fish?" 

"No,  he  took  it  up  there  for  that  very  purpose. 

[184] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

He  wanted  to  catch  'is  birds  alive,  without  injury, 
so  'e  c'd  sell  'em  to  the  museums  an'  menageries. 
One  year  he  caught  seven  an'  shipped  'em  to  the 
Zoo  in  Bombay,  an'  that's  how  that  Frenchman  I 
just  spoke  of  happened  to  try  the  eggs.  They  laid 
'em  in  the  Zoo  and  the  keeper  o'  the  Zoo  was  a 
friend  o'  his. 

''You  askin'  about  expecting  to  find  fish  up  there 
reminds  me  that  my  friend  said  in  'is  letter  that 
another  way  they  had  o'  catching  the  birds  was  to 
lay  out  set  lines  over  the  snow  with  big  fish  hooks 
on  'em.  They  fastened  'em  to  the  jagged  rocks 
an'  left  'em  out  three  or  four  days.  They  baited  the 
hooks  with  frogs  they'd  brought  up  from  down  be- 
low. The  frogs,  of  course,  froze,  but  the  turkeys 
would  swallow  'em,  an'  when  the  frogs  thawed  out 
inside  their  crops  they'd  be  stuck  with  the  hooks. 
My  friend  wrote  that  one  man  got  three  on  one  line 
once  an'  had  a  terrible  time  pullin'  'em  in  over  the 
rough  ice  and  snow.  They  have  some  awful  snow 
storms  up  in  them  mountains.  Sometimes  it  snows 
for  years  without  let'n  up,  an'  the  snow  gits  to  be 
half  a  mile  deep,  so  you  see  there's  lots  of  un- 
certainties." 

At  this  point  Bill  removed  his  tattered  hat  and 
bowed  reverently  to  Vamey. 

Pop  Wilkins  remarked  that  he  had  often  caught 
turkeys  on  fish  lines,  but  his  custom  had  been  to 
troll  for  them  through  the  open  fields  with  spoon 
hooks,  or  use  a  pole  and  line  with  a  casting  bait 
when  the  birds  were  in  the  trees.    Although  he  had 

[185] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

never  tried  set  lines  on  snow,  he  had  no  doubt  it 
would  work. 

The  subject  was  changed,  and  Sophy,  after  mak- 
ing her  purchase,  departed  without  looking  in  our 
direction. 

''That  feller's  the  oiliest  liar  I  ever  heard,"  de- 
clared Bill,  after  Vamey  had  transacted  his  business 
and  gone,  ''an'  e'  tells  int'restin'  lies,  too.  It  beats 
me  how  'e  does  'em.  It's  a  sort  o'  natural  gift, 
like  singin'  and'  drawin'  pitchers,  an'  I  love  to 
hear  'im  throw  it.  Most  liars  'ud  stop  when  they 
seen  it  wasn't  soakin'  in  an'  people  was  git'n  weak, 
but  the  Perfessor  keeps  right  on  'till  the  goose  flesh 
comes.  Say,  Pop,  you  an'  me '11  have  to  ferment 
sump'n  to  drown  'im  with  when  'e  blows  'round  'ere 
ag'in.  Let's  tell  'im  one  that'll  put  'im  out  o'  busi- 
ness for  six  months." 

"All  right.  Bill,  you  be  thinkin'  of  it.  You're 
sump'n  of  a  past  master  yourself.  I'm  goin'  home 
to  rest.    I  got  enough  for  one  day." 

Vamey  chuckled  quietly  to  himself  as  he  crossed 
the  bridge,  for  with  his  story  he  had  woven  a  web 
of  many  meshes,  and  to  it  he  hoped  time  would 
bring  valuable  spoil.  He  knew  that  he  could  rely 
on  Sophy's  cupidity  and  insatiable  curiosity  to 
"start  something,"  and  when  he  came  again  it  was 
his  intention  to  amplify  and  strengthen  the  ground 
work  he  had  laid. 

A  week  later  the  firm  by  whom  Josh  was  employed 
received  a  mysterious  letter  asking  all  about  him. 
It  came  from  the  county  seat,  and  was  afterwards 

[186] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

ascertained  to  have  been  written  by  one  of  Sophy's 
acquaintances,  undoubtedly  at  her  instigation.  This 
was  a  characteristic  and  favorite  form  of  strategy 
with  Sophy,  and  was  quite  recognizable  to  Josh 
when  the  letter  was  shown  to  him.  The  reply  that 
he  suggested  was  sent  by  his  obliging  employers. 
It  contained  the  assurance  that  Mr.  Varney  was  a 
gentleman  of  high  repute.  He  had  sold  their  goods 
for  several  years,  and  they  considered  his  honesty 
and  ability  above  question. 

In  due  course  of  time  Sophy  began  to  agitate  the 
idea  of  getting  ''some  of  those  wonderful  white  for- 
eign turkeys"  that  she  had  ''accidentally  heard 
about"  into  the  neighborhood.  She  thought  that 
the  club  ought  to  take  the  matter  up. 

Bill  assured  her  that  "the  Perfessor  was  handin* 
out  bunk  the  day  that  things  was  bein'  accident 'ly 
overheard  inside,  an'  anything  from  'im  'ud  be 
'bout  like  what  'e  put  over  at  the  Thanksgivin' 
shoot. ' ' 

This  spirit  of  opposition  only  stimulated  Sophy, 
and  the  subtle  Josh  had  calculated  on  it  to  a  nicety. 
He  knew  that  the  seed  was  now  in  fertile  soil  and 
he  calmly  awaited  the  harvest. 

In  a  month  he  came  again,  and  incidentally  men- 
tioned that  his  friend  who  wrote  him  about  the 
Himalayan  white  turkeys  had  arrived  in  New  York. 
He  had  started  home  with  three  birds,  but  two  of 
them  had  been  sickened  by  the  roll  of  the  ship  on 
the  way  over,  and  had  died  just  before  getting  into 
port.    The  one  that  survived  the  voyage  was  the 

[187] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

remarkable  gobbler  that  was  in  the  picture  he  had 
shown  on  his  last  trip  to  the  store. 

''This  bird '11  cause  a  lot  of  excitement  in  this 
country,"  he  declared.  ''They  call  'im  Hyder  AH, 
an'  'e's  named  after  a  famous  Mohametan  general 
that  fought  in  Asia  a  good  many  years  ago.  This 
man  Hyder  Ali  pretty  nearly  cleaned  the  English 
out  of  India  once  an '  they  had  a  hot  time  getting  'im 
canned.  There's  been  ships  an'  perfumery  an'  race 
horses  an'  brands  o'  cigars  an'  lots  of  other  things 
named  after  'im.  He  was  one  of  the  most  famous 
men  that  ever  lived  in  that  part  of  the  world." 

By  degrees  the  imaginative  and  romantic  Josh 
succeeded  in  creating  an  atmosphere  of  avid  inter- 
est in  everything  relating  to  Hyder  Ali,  the  mar- 
vellous fowl  from  beyond  the  briny  seas,  and  he 
intended  to  intensify  this  atmosphere  to  the  point 
of  precipitation  at  the  proper  time. 

A  couple  of  weeks  later  Varney  told  Posey  that  he 
had  bought  the  Himalayan  gobbler  from  his  friend, 
but  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him  for  a  week  or 
ten  days,  as  the  man  that  was  going  to  take  care 
of  it  for  him  was  away.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
gobbler  was  to  be  brought  to  the  store  and  tempo- 
rarily installed  in  the  chicken  yard  near  the  barn. 

On  the  following  Saturday  afternoon,  when  Josh 
well  knew  that  there  would  be  a  full  attendance  at 
Posey's,  that  gay  and  debonair  gentleman  came  in 
a  light  spring  wagon.  He  was  accompanied  by  a 
young  man  with  a  thick  "O'Merican"  accent,  who 
drove  the  rig,  and  whom  he  introduced  as  Mr.  Flah- 

[188] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

erty.  Interest  immediately  centered  on  the  big  box, 
perforated  with  many  auger  holes,  that  stood  in  the 
wagon  back  of  the  seat. 

The  vehicle  was  followed  by  the  agitated  and 
curious  crowd,  as  it  was  driven  back  to  the  chicken 
yard.  The  box  was  tenderly  removed  and  placed 
inside  the  wire  netting  enclosure  by  Vamey  and 
Flaherty. 

The  appearance  of  Hyder  Ali  had  been  skilfully 
timed.  The  composite  effect  of  Vamey 's  discourses 
on  the  subject  of  this  wondrous  bird  had  been  to 
produce  psychologic  conditions  that  he  considered 
quite  perfect  for  his  dark  purposes.  He  knew  that 
the  halo  of  prestige  and  romance,  that  had  been 
patiently  made  to  glow  around  Hyder  Ali,  would 
become  still  brighter  when  that  peerless  bird  burst 
dramatically  upon  the  rustic  stage. 

Out  of  the  opened  door  of  the  box  there  came,  with 
delicate  mincing  steps  and  regal  mien,  what,  to  that 
crowd,  was  almost  a  celestial  vision.  He  was  an 
enormous  bird.  With  the  exception  of  his  eyes, 
he  was  pure  white,  even  to  his  carunculated  neck 
wattle  and  comb.  The  eyes  were  of  a  deep  pink, 
and  gleamed  like  iridescent  opals  in  their  snowy 
setting.  The  slender  comb  dangled  and  hung 
jauntily  on  one  side,  like  the  tassle  on  a  Turkish 
fez,  and  it  imparted  a  rakish  oriental  air.  The  head 
was  crowned  with  a  dainty  little  wisp  of  airy 
feathers  that  would  have  fluttered  the  heart  of  the 
most  obdurate  of  hen  turkeys.  The  shifting  light 
revealed  pearly  half-tones  in  the  snowy  raiment.  He 

[189] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVEE 

was  immaculate  and  would  hardly  have  seemed  out 
of  place  on  a  pedestal.  Many  strange  and  queer 
things  have  stood  on  pedestals  in  this  world,  both 
in  fact  and  fancy,  and  Hyder  Ali  would  have  ranked 
very  far  from  the  lower  end  of  the  scale. 

He  paused  on  being  released  from  what  to  him 
must  have  been  a  humiliating  confinement,  looked 
disdainfully  at  his  surroundings,  and  nonchalantly 
acquired  a  fat  green  tomato  worm  that  decorated  a 
nearby  leaf. 

He  walked  slowly,  and  with  lordly  dignity,  about 
the  enclosure,  apparently  conscious  of  the  wonder 
and  admiration  he  was  attracting.  He  seemed  like 
some  rare  exotic — entirely  foreign  to  the  strange 
environment  into  which  an  indiscriminate  fate  had 
thrust  him. 

''Let  joy  be  unconfined!  WeVe  got  Hyder  Ali!" 
shouted  Bill,  half  sarcastically,  as  he  joined  the  awe 
stricken  crowd.  He  had  arrived  too  late  to  witness 
the  unloading,  but  he  was  impressed  with  the  fact 
that  Varney  had,  at  least  in  some  measure,  ''made 
good.''  However,  the  demon  of  distrust  still  lin- 
gered in  his  heart.  He  had  never  seen  or  heard  of 
anything  that  looked  like  Hyder  Ali  before,  but  was 
disposed  to  restrain  his  enthusiasm  and  await  fur- 
ther developments. 

Sophy  Perkins  came  late  in  the  afternoon  and  was 
in  a  highly  flustered  state.  She  spent  a  long  time 
at  the  chicken  yard  with  her  wistful  eyes  riveted 
on  the  distinguished  guest.  To  own  that  bird  would 
crown  her  futile  and  disappointed  life  with  bliss. 

[190] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

She  longed  for  its  possession  as  one  who  beseeches 
fate  for  the  unattainable. 

Seemingly  in  response  to  her  fervent  gaze,  Hyder 
Ali  spread  his  tail  feathers  into  vast  fan-like  forms 
over  his  downy  back.  His  pink  eyes  glistened  with 
alluring  and  changing  beams  from  amid  the  fluffy 
white  array  of  distended  plumage,  as  he  turned 
slowly  round  and  round,  posed,  and  strutted,  quite 
human  like,  before  Sophy's  bewildered  vision. 

His  prolonged  gobbles,  as  he  majestically 
patrolled  the  chicken  pen,  had  for  her  an  ineffable 
musical  charm. 

She  had  once  read  a  syndicated  story  in  a  news- 
paper magazine  supplement,  in  which  reincarnation 
and  transmigration  of  souls  figured  in  a  supernat- 
ural and  flesh  creepy  plot.  After  she  had  heard 
Josh  Vamey's  allusion  to  reincarnation  in  his  first 
talk  with  us  at  the  store,  she  had  hunted  it  up  and 
reread  it  carefully.  In  the  woful  and  sobby  tale 
a  beautiful  princess  and  her  affinity  discovered  that 
they  had  once  loved  as  shell-fish,  and  through  count- 
less ages  had  periodically  met  in  other  strange 
forms,  which  did  not  happen  to  be  identical  until 
the  time  of  the  story,  when  they  met  in  a  phos- 
phorescent light  in  the  dusty  tomb  of  a  Manchu 
ancestor. 

During  her  second  day^s  visit  to  Hyder  Ali  a 
mysterious  and  indefinable  thrill  had  crept  into 
Sophy's  sterile  heart.  She  pondered  much  over  the 
resistless  fascination  that  the  bird  exercised  over 
her,  and  suddenly  became  obsessed  with  the  idea 

[191] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

that  this  was  possibly  the  reincarnation  of  a  soul 
mate  that  she  might  have  had  in  some  far  off  pre- 
vious existence,  somewhere  in  the  star  swept  aeons 
that  were  gone,  that  had  drifted  through  the  ages 
in  various  forms,  until  predestination  had  again 
brought  them  face  to  face.  She  had  a  hazy  idea  of 
the  theory  of  reincarnation,  but  she  had  an  instinct- 
ive feeling  that,  if  there  was  anything  of  that  sort, 
this  was  probably  it,  and  a  long  lost  affinity  was  be- 
fore her. 

The  *' loose  wires  in  her  upper  story"  that  Eat 
Hyatt  had  mentioned  at  the  turkey  shoot  began  to 
rattle  hopelessly  on  the  subject  of  the  white  gobbler. 

Into  her  mind  there  came  a  desperate  resolve  to 
acquire  that  bird,  by  fair  means  or  foul.  All  of  her 
persistence,  and  every  form  of  artijfice  and  cunning 
of  which  she  was  capable  would  thenceforth  be  de- 
voted to  that  end. 

After  Hyder  Ali  had  sojourned  a  week  in  Posey's 
pen,  attended  with  adoration,  and  fed  with  selected 
worms,  com  meal  mush,  and  other  dainties  by  the 
faithful  Sophy,  Mr.  Flaherty  came  with  his  little 
spring  wagon  and  took  him  away.  He  said  that 
the  man  who  was  to  keep  him  for  Mr.  Varney  had 
returned  home,  but  he  did  not  say  where  he  lived. 

Thus  was  Hyder  Ali  dangled  temptingly  before 
the  Turkey  Club,  and  tantalizingly  whisked  from 
sight.  Varney  was  eagerly  questioned  when  he 
came  again,  but  his  manner  was  very  reserved.  He 
seemed  willing  to  talk  volubly  on  any  subject  but 
the  gobbler,  the  only  thing  anybody  wanted  to  hear 

[192] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

about.  He  finally  said  that  he  had  paid  three  hun- 
dred dollars  for  the  bird  and  intended  to  exhibit 
him  at  the  county  fairs  in  various  parts  of  the  state 
during  the  fall,  charging  a  small  admission  fee  to 
make  it  profitable. 

Sophy  was  anxious  to  know  if  he  would  sell  the 
bird,  and,  after  talking  it  all  over  with  her,  the  re- 
luctant Josh  consented  to  a  ''grand  raffle"  for  the 
turkey,  provided  three  hundred  chances  could  be  sold 
at  one  dollar  each.  He  felt  that  exhibiting  the  bird 
around  the  country  might  be  a  good  deal  of  a  job, 
although  he  regarded  it  as  a  fine  thing  from  a  finan- 
cial point  of  view.  If  he  was  to  part  with  Hyder 
All  he  would  rather  that  he  would  remain  with  his 
friends  along  the  river,  as  he  was  very  fond  of  all 
of  them,  and  they  might  talk  over  the  county  fair 
idea  later. 

It  was  agreed  that  when  all  of  the  chances  were 
sold  the  drawing  should  be  held  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Turkey  Club  in  the  yard  back  of  Posey's 
store,  where  Hyder  Ali  was  to  be  brought. 

Numbered  tickets,  corresponding  to  the  names  in 
Sophy's  sales  book  were  to  be  deposited  in  a  hat. 
Josh  Varney,  as  the  owner  of  the  turkey,  was  to 
hold  the  hat.  Sophy  was  to  be  blindfolded,  and  to 
draw  forth  the  tickets  one  by  one,  until  the  con- 
tents of  the  hat  were  exhausted.  They  were  to  be 
handed  to  somebody  else  who  would  call  off  the  num- 
bers and  cancel  them  in  the  book.  The  last  ticket 
in  the  hat  was  to  win  Hyder  Ali. 

The  chances  were  all  sold  within  a  week,  some 

[193] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

purchasers  taking  as  many  as  a  dozen.  Just  before 
the  supply  was  gone  Josh  and  his  friend  Flaherty 
each  took  ten  and  the  book  was  declared  closed. 

Sophy  was  only  able  to  buy  seven,  but  she  hoped 
that  they  would  be  sufficient  for  her  purpose. 

Every  able  bodied  person,  and  some  who  were 
not,  who  lived  within  ten  miles  and  could  by  any 
means  get  to  the  store,  was  there  on  the  day  of  the 
drawing. 

Hyder  Ali  arrived  in  his  perforated  box  and  was 
reinstalled  in  the  chicken  yard,  where  he  walked 
about  in  lonely  majesty,  while  his  destiny  was  in 
the  balance — the  cynosure  of  many  anxious  and 
covetous  eyes. 

A  platform  had  been  improvised  with  four  big 
drygoods  boxes  in  the  yard,  high  enough  for  every- 
body to  see  what  was  going  on.  Mr.  Vamey  stood 
on  it  and  announced  the  conditions.  He  acknowl- 
edged the  receipt  of  the  proceeds  of  the  raffle,  and 
stated  that  the  bird  now  belonged  to  the  winner. 

The  three  hundred  numbered  tickets  were  then 
produced  by  Sophy.  She  handed  them  to  Vamey 
to  deposit  in  the  ancient  plug  hat  that  Pop  Wilkins 
had  obligingly  loaned  for  the  occasion,  in  accord- 
ance with  time  honored  custom.  Pop,  with  the  sun 
reflecting  from  his  bald  head,  stood  on  the  platform, 
adjusted  his  brass  rimmed  spectacles,  and  made 
ready  to  call  off  the  cancellations. 

Vamey  ran  through  the  tickets  several  times  and 
counted  them  to  see  if  they  were  all  there.  His 
numbers  were  from  281  to  290.    He  mixed  the  tickets 

[194] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

over  thoroughly  inside  the  hat  with  his  hand,  and 
the  blindfolded  Sophy  began  drawing.     She  had 
carefully  bent  all  of  her  own  tickets  in  such  a  way 
as  to  enable  her  to  identify  them  by  touch,  and  had 
no  doubt  that  she  would  own  Hyder  Ali  within  the 
next  twenty  minutes.    There  was  excited  buying  and 
selhng,  at  big  premiums,  of  numbers  remaining  in 
the  hat  as  the  contest  narrowed  down,  and  there 
were  frequent  delays  in  the  drawing  to  accommo- 
date the  speculators.     Six  of  Sophy's  tickets  had 
come  out.    None  of  them  were  bent  and  cold  chills 
raced  up  and  down  her  spine.    Her  agile  and  ner- 
vous fingers  had  carefully  avoided  a  well  bent  ticket 
near  one  side  of  the  grimy  interior  of  the  hat.  When 
she  drew  out  a  flat  ticket  next  to  it,  she  learned  to 
her  horror  that  it  was  her  last  number.    With  a  faint 
heart  she  reached  for  the  other,  hoping  that  there 
had  been  some  error  in  her  count,  but  the  last  ticket 
was  number  294,  and  it  belonged  to  Mr.  Flaherty 
It  was  evident  to  her  that  the  wily  Josh  had  dis- 
covered the  bent  tickets,  and  while  he  was  handling 
them    over   inside   the   hat   he    had    managed    to 
straighten  them  all  and  bend  Flaherty's.    Whatever 
other  artifice  Josh  might  have  had  in  reserve  had 
he  not  discovered  the  bunch  of  bent  tickets  will 
always  be  a  mystery,  but  he  certainly  had  no  inten- 
tion of  leaving  Hyder  Ali  in  the  river  country 

Sophy  removed  the  handkerchief,  under  which  she 
had  found  no  difficulty  in  peeking  during  the  draw- 
ing, and  looked  upon  Josh. 
Human  eyes  have  seldom  glittered  with  the  ven- 

[195] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

omous  and  deadly  glow  that  he  now  saw  in  Sophy's 
orbs.  Such  eyes  might  have  blazed  through  a  laby- 
rinth in  a  jungle  upon  one  who  had  seized  a  tiger 
cub.  Backed  by  courage  the  look  would  have  por- 
tended murder. 

Sophy  at  once  realized  the  hopelessness  of  her 
position,  for  no  specious  protest  was  possible.  She 
had  encountered  an  adept  in  an  art  in  which  she 
was  but  a  tyro.  It  was  all  over  and  she  was  com- 
pelled to  smother  her  impotent  wrath. 

To  the  crowd,  ignorant  of  the  little  drama  on  the 
platform,  everything  had  seemed  entirely  regular. 
None  of  them  had  ever  had  a  ghost  of  a  chance  of 
getting  the  turkey,  but  they  were  good  natured 
losers.  Pop  Wilkins  carefully  restored  the  old  stove- 
pipe hat  to  his  shining  dome.  While  regretting  that 
he  had  not  won  Hyder  Ali  and  that  that  remark- 
able bird  from  foreign  lands  was  not  to  remain  in 
the  community,  he  declared  that  there  was  now 
nothing  to  do  but  congratulate  the  winner. 

''That's  what  we  done  at  the  turkey  shoot  last 
year, ' '  remarked  Bill  in  an  undertone,  as  we  watched 
the  perforated  box  being  loaded  on  to  Flaherty's 
spring  wagon. 

Vamey  tactfully  refrained  from  assisting  in  the 
loading.  ''I  hate  to  part  with  that  bird,"  he  de- 
clared, ''but  business  is  business  an'  there  'e 
goes!" 

Sophy  continued  to  look  upon  him  with  a  steely 
and  viperous  glare,  but  he  did  not  appear  to  notice 
her.     They  each  knew  that  the  other  thoroughly 

[196] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

understood  the  situation,  and  there  were  no  ethics 
that  were  debatable.  Sophy  knew  that  Flaherty  was 
a  man  of  straw,  and  that  she  had  been  skilfully 
robbed  of  the  fruits  of  her  chicanery.  Vamey  re- 
garded her  discomfiture  with  the  generous  benevo- 
lence of  a  victor. 

Sophy  believed  that  all  moral  logic,  and  every 
other  kind  of  logic,  entitled  her  to  Hyder  Ali.  She 
considered  that  in  addition  to  the  loss  of  the  bird, 
she  had  been  swindled  out  of  the  seven  dollars  she 
had  paid  for  her  worthless  chances. 

She  justified  her  own  dishonesty  to  herself  by 
the  conviction  that  she  had  worked  hard  enough  for 
the  club  to  have  the  turkey  anyway,  and  as  long  as 
some  ticket  had  to  be  left  until  the  last,  it  might  just 
as  well  be  her's  as  anybody's.  It  was  all  a  matter  of 
chance  anyway,  and,  as  it  turned  out  it  would  have 
been  much  better  for  everybody  if  Hyder  Ali  could 
have  been  kept  in  the  neighborhood  with  her  instead 
of  being  taken  away.  She  considered  that  she  had 
suffered  a  great  injustice,  and  that  a  defenseless 
woman  should  be  thus  robbed  and  maltreated  was 
to  her  the  acme  of  outrage. 

Vamey  had  his  own  rig  with  him  and  left  for  the 
county  seat  soon  after  Flaherty  and  his  spring 
wagon  had  departed  in  an  opposite  direction.  The 
precious  pair  was  gone — with  Hyder  Ali,  and  two 
hundred  and  eighty  dollars  of  tangible  profits. 

A  melodious  gobble  was  faintly  heard  far  away 
on  the  road  while  Flaherty  was  still  in  sight.  It 
might  have  been  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  farewell. 

[1971 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

**I  s'pose,"  remarked  Bill,  ''that  Hyder  All's 
yellin'  fer  help.  He's  prob'ly  'fraid  them  two  jay 
birds '11  send  'im  back  to  them  Brummins  an'  that 
Bungspout  Swammy  fish  net  man  in  India,  where 
'e'U  git  'is  crop  chilled  with  them  frozen  frogs,  but 
'e  needn't  worry.  I  didn't  buy  no  chances  fer  I 
didn't  think  there 'd  be  any  show  fer  a  white  man 
with  Josh  an'  Sophy  up  on  them  boxes,  an'  they 
wasn't.  I  thought  they  was  goin'  to  be  sump'n  doin' 
when  I  seen  Sophy  eyein'  Josh.  She  looked  like 
she  wanted  to  squirt  some  lye  at  'im.  Sophy's  got 
a  bad  eye.  She  o'n  sour  a  pan  o'  milk  that's  twenty 
feet  off  by  jest  lookin'  at  it  in  a  cert'n  way. 

"Them  kewpies  'ave  finished  the  cookin'  this  time 
■an'  we're  done  good  an'  brown.  I  don't  think 
they'll  be  'round  any  more  'less  Josh  comes  to  sell 
us  a  striped  elephant  next  year,  an'  if  'e  does  I 
'spose  we'll  buy  it.  I  don't  think  we  wanted  that 
misquito  fatted  bird  anyway.  He  didn't  look  to  me 
like  'e  was  healthy. ' ' 

Sophy  was  ill  for  a  couple  of  weeks  and  visited 
the  store  but  rarely  during  the  rest  of  the  summer. 

*'She  looks  like  she'd  been  licked,"  observed  Rat 
Hyatt.  **She  don't  seem  to  have  no  pep  any  more, 
I  met  'er  on  the  bridge  the  other  day,  an'  when  1 
spoke  to  'er  she  answered  as  nice  an'  polite  as 
anybody,  instead  o'  lookin'  at  me  like  I  was  a 
skunk,  an'  pass'n  on  the  way  she  used  to  do." 

During  the  latter  part  of  August  Sophy  chanced 
to  see  a  copy  of  a  weekly  paper  that  was  published 
in  a  small  town  about  fifty  miles  away.    In  it  was 

[198] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

an  announcement  of  a  **  grand  raflfle,"  to  be  held  the 
following  week,  *'for  a  wonderful  white  turkey  im- 
ported from  Siberia  at  great  expense,  the  like  of 
which  has  never  been  seen  or  heard  of  in  this 
country." 

The  article  went  on  to  say  that  "this  is  a  great 
event  that  is  about  to  take  place  in  our  midst,  and 
ye  editor  blushingly  owns  to  the  soft  impeachment 
of  having  taken  ten  chances  with  his  hard  earned 
pelf.  We  hope  to  win  the  splendid  prize,  but  if  we 
fail  we  respectfully  ask  anybody  who  is  in  arrears 
on  their  subscription  to  please  call  at  our  holy  edi- 
torial sanctum  with  some  mazuma,  for  though  ye 
ed.  toys  with  the  trailing  skirts  of  fickle  fortune,  yet 
must  he  eat." 

Sophy  kept  her  own  counsel  and  prevailed  on  Pop 
Wilkins  to  lend  her  his  horse  and  two  seated  buggy 
for  a  few  days  to  enable  her  to  visit  a  sick  relative 
who  lived  some  distance  away.  She  was  gone  a 
week,  and  when  she  returned  Hyder  Ali  was  in  the 
buggy.  His  beautiful  head  protruded  inquiringly 
from  the  top  of  a  gunny  sack  in  which  he  was  care- 
fully secured.  Sophy  drove  home  with  her  prize, 
returned  the  rig  to  the  obliging  Pop,  and  walked 
loftily  into  the  store,  on  her  way  back,  to  make 
some  purchases. 

She  was  a  changed  woman,  and  victory  was  on 
her  brow.  She  greeted  the  loiterers  about  the  store, 
but,  as  Posey  expressed  it,  *'she  spoke  from  above." 

Naturally  the  neighborhood  was  in  a  ferment  of 
curiosity. 

[199] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEB 

**How'd  you  git  'im?"  asked  Bill  pleasantly. 

*'I  caught  'im  on  a  fish  line,"  she  replied  grimly. 

Beyond  this  she  refused  any  explanations  and  her 
attitude  was  regarded  as  the  height  of  cruelty.  She 
said  it  was  nobody's  business  but  her  own,  and  no 
further  light  was  thrown  on  the  subject. 

Early  in  the  fall  a  band  of  gipsies  came  and 
camped  on  a  grassy  glade  in  the  woods  not  far  from 
where  Sophy  lived.  They  remained  several  weeks. 
The  men  traded  horses  with  the  nearby  farmers, 
and  the  women  went  about  the  neighborhood  in  their 
picturesque  costumes,  begged  small  articles,  and  told 
fortunes. 

One  morning  Sophy  was  horrified  to  find  that 
Hyder  Ali  was  gone.  She  at  once  suspected  the 
gipsies,  and  rushed  to  their  camp,  but  the  Eomany 
folk  had  departed.  She  found  a  long  white  feather 
on  the  ground  that  undoubtedly  had  come  from  her 
cherished  bird.  She  at  once  enlisted  all  the  help 
she  could  get.  The  assistance  of  the  sheriff  was 
invoked  and  the  trail  of  the  gipsies  was  taken  by 
a  large  party.  They  were  located  about  fifteen 
miles  away.  Thorough  search  revealed  no  trace  of 
the  missing  property.  The  gipsies  were  confronted 
with  the  tell-tale  feather,  but  denied  all  knowledge 
of  it.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  further  to  do  and 
the  matter  was  dropped  by  the  sheriff. 

In  November,  just  before  the  annual  turkey  shoot, 
Mr.  Eoscoe  Plunkett,  of  the  firm  of  Plunkett  &  Mott, 
whose  goods  Vamey  had  sold  for  several  years, 
came  to  Posey's  store  to  check  up  their  account.    He 

[200] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

said  that  his  firm  had  suffered  considerable  losses 
through  the  shady  and  sinuous  methods  of  Varney, 
and  that  he  was  no  longer  with  them.  They  had 
delved  deep  into  his  history  before  he  came  to  them 
and  found  that  he  had  a  rancid  past.  It  was 
checkered  with  a  couple  of  jail  confinements,  but  he 
had  managed  in  each  case  to  obtain  his  freedom 
after  trial.  He  had  been  a  champion  rifle  shot,  and 
had  given  exhibitions  of  trick  shooting  in  a  wild 
west  show  for  a  year  or  two.  Of  late  he  had  been 
mixed  up  with  a  man  named  Flaherty.  They  had 
found  a  farmer  in  the  southern  part  of  the  state 
who  had  an  albino  turkey — one  of  those  rare  freaks 
of  nature,  due  to  deficient  pigmentation.  It  was  a 
beautiful  gobbler  of  abnormal  size.  They  bought 
the  bird  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and,  since  that  time 
they  had  been  going  about  the  country  raffling  it 
off.    One  of  them  had  always  won  it. 

During  the  previous  week  a  friend  of  Plunkett^s, 
who  was  a  commercial  traveler,  had  written  him 
that  he  had  met  Varney  in  Michigan,  and  that 
Flaherty  and  the  white  turkey  were  with  him. 

This  new  light  on  the  general  cussedness  and 
dark  ways  of  Josh  Varney  came  too  late  to  be  of 
any  benefit  to  Sophy.  She  had  gone  to  live  with 
some  relatives  in  a  small  town  in  Iowa,  taking  her 
illusions  and  her  bitter  hatreds  with  her.  Her  hen- 
pecked husband  had  mercifully  been  relieved  of  his 
earthly  troubles,  but  this  had  not  seemed  to  disturb 
her  as  much  as  her  other  afflictions.  She  had  become 
completely  disgusted  with  her  surroundings,  and  had 

[201] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

sought   new  fields   for  her   restless   propensities. 

"It's  too  bad  Josh  don't  know  she's  a  widow," 
remarked  Bill,  *'fer  them  two  might  git  married 
now,  if  they  wanted  to." 

Bill  labored  long  in  lettering  out  the  notice  of 
the  next  annual  turkey  shoot,  which  he  tacked  up 
in  the  store. 

There  was  a  full  attendance  when  the  day  came. 
The  weather  was  again  pleasant,  the  blood  letting 
was 'satisfactory,  and  no  untoward  incident  marred 
the  joy  of  the  occasion. 

When  the  shooting  was  over  Bill  pounded  offi- 
cially on  a  barrel  top  and  called  the  business  meet- 
ing to  order. 

*'The  first  thing  to  be  done  at  this  meet'n  is  to 
*lect  a  new  Chief  Gobbler,  fer  this  one  has  now  re- 
signed. This  chair  has  quit,  an'  now  pays  its  part- 
ing respects  to  all  the  members.  I  say  now  that 
this  chair  has  been  blasphemed  an'  jumped  on  fer 
five  years.  Nothin'  has  ever  been  done  right. 
Ev'rybody  has  cussed  the  chair  right  an'  left,  an' 
the  chair  has  never  peeped  or  said  a  word  back.  In 
quit'n  this  hon'able  office  this  chair  now  makes 
answer  to  all  them  sore  heads  that's  been  criti- 
cize'n  it  fer  all  these  years,  an'  that  answer  is 
BAEUa 

**Now  we'll  perceed  to  nominations  fer  the  chair's 
successor." 

A  Voice: — "I  nom'nate  Mr.  Bill  Stiles  fer  the 
ensuin'  year,  an*  I  move  it  be  made  unimous." 

The  Chair: — **Is  there  no  other  nominations?" 

[202] 


THE  TURKEY  CLUB 

Another  Voice:— ''I  nom'nate  Mr.  Josh  Vamey, 
an'  I  move  it  be  made  unimous."  (Chorus  of  cat 
calls.) 

A  voice  from  the  rear:— ''I  move  that  the  chair 
stops  smokin'  when  it's  presidin'  an'  I  move  we 
adjourn!" 

The  Chair:— ''If  that  feller  back  there  thinks  'e 
c'n  run  this  meet'n  better 'n  it's  bein'  done,  let  'im 
come  up  in  front.  This  chair's  goin'  to  do  its 
smokin'  while  it's  alive  instid  o'  wait'n  'till  after- 
wards like  some  people.  We  gotta  have  some  dig- 
nity about  this  thing,  an'  you  fellers  keep  quiet! 
Now  who  makes  any  more  nominations?" 

After  some  further  parliamentary  bickering,  the 
reluctant  Bill  was  duly  reelected,  as  usual. 

''Now,"  he  continued,  "havin'  got  this  turr'ble 
weight  offen  our  chests,  the  next  business '11  be  the 
'lection  of  a  new  boss,  fer  Sophy  Perkins  has  left 
us.  She's  gone  way  off  some'rs  where  the  winds 
are  bio  win'  an'  she'll  never  come  back.  Mr.  Posey 
has  been  suggested  fer  new  secretary  an'  treas- 
urer.   Does  anybody  nominate  'im?" 

''He'd  be  a  good  man  to  take  in  the  money,  but 
he'd  make  a  hell  of  a  secretary!"  shouted  somebody 
in  the  crowd. 

''Never  mind,  does  somebody  nominate  'im?" 
continued  Bill. 

"How  d'ye  know  Sophy '11  never  come  back?"  de- 
manded another  voice  from  the  rear. 

"How  do  I  know?  How  do  I  know  anything? 
Shut  up!"  replied  the  chair  with  asperity. 

[203] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

Mr.  Posey  modestly  declined  his  impending  hon- 
ors, but  was  elected. 

*'The  next  business,"  announced  Bill,  *'is  the  re- 
port o'  the  chair  on  the  case  o'  Mr.  Josh  Vamey. 
Some  o'  you'll  prob'ly  faintly  recollect  of  'is  havin' 
been  among  us  some  time  ago." 

He  then  related  the  story  of  Plunkett,  revealed  the 
sins  of  Vamey  in  all  their  sable  hues  and  commented 
caustically  on  the  soft  headedness  of  the  victims  of 
that  artful  tactician. 

''All  you  fellers  has  been  just  as  easy  marks  fer 
Josh  as  them  ten  turkeys  in  them  boxes  was  a  year 
ago.  Some  day  we  may  ketch  the  perfessor,  but 
knowin'  'im  as  I  do,  I  don't  b'lieve  we  will.  He 
bruised  a  lot  o'  gold  shekels  out  o'  this  bunch  with 
that  pale  fowl,  an'  besides  'e  made  us  feel  bad." 

Mr.  Rat  Hyatt  was  now  recognized  by  the  chair. 

"Fer  years, '^  said  Rat,  "all  of  us  has  called 
Sophy  Perkins  'the  stinger,'  an'  she  was  a  stinger, 
but  I  now  move  you,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  that  title 
be  hereby  shifted  off  en  'er  an'  put  on  that  pink 
eyed  turkey  man." 

The  motion  was  unanimously  carried  and  ordered 
spread  upon  the  records  that  Sophy  had  left  at  the 
store. 

The  meeting  then  adjourned. 

As  we  left  I  casually  mentioned  the  fine  weather 
we  were  having. 

"Yes,  it's  been  a  phenonomous  year,"  replied 
Bill,  thoughtfully. 

[204] 


vin 

THE  PEEDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 


vni 

THE  PKEDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

NEAR  one  of  the  picturesque  bends  of  the 
river,  about  half  a  mile  above  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Big  Marsh,  was  the  home  of 
Col.  Jasper  M.  Peets,  a  doughty  warrior,  who  had 
fought  valiantly  for  the  Lost  Cause,  and  was  spend- 
ing his  declining  years  in  a  troubled  twilight. 

The  Colonel  was  an  exotic.  Perverse  fates  had 
transplanted  him  into  a  strange  clime.  All  that 
anybody  along  the  river  knew  of  his  history,  up  to 
the  time  of  his  arrival,  had  come  from  his  own 
lips,  and  none  of  it  was  to  his  discredit. 

I  had  made  his  acquaintance  at  Posey  *s  store, 
where  he  frequently  came  for  supplies.  Muskrat 
Hyatt  cautioned  me  not  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  him. 

''That  feller's  bad  medicine,"  he  declared.  ''He's 
worse 'n  I  am,  an'  that's  sayin'  a  whole  lot.  If  you 
ever  go  down  to  his  place,  you  keep  yer  cash  in  yer 
shoes  an'  don't  you  take  'em  off  while  you're 
there. ' ' 

The  little  farm,  with  its  dilapidated  house  and 
bam,  had  come  to  the  Colonel  as  an  inheritance  from 

[The  author  acknowledges  his  indebtedness  to  Mr.  T.  H.  Ball,  of 
Crown  Point,  Ind.,  for  a  portion  of  the  material  used  in  this  story.] 

[207] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

a  distant  relative  whom  he  had  never  seen.  The  old 
pioneer,  who  had  died  there,  had  spent  years  of  toil, 
patient  and  unremitting,  in  clearing  the  land  and 
coaxing  a  precarious  livelihood  from  the  reluctant 
soil.  He  had  left  no  will  and  the  Colonel  was  the 
nearest  surviving  relative. 

The  Colonel  explained  that  this  *'fahm''  and  a 
''small  passel  of  land  down  south"  was  all  that  he 
now  possessed  in  the  world.  The  "iron  heel  of  the 
oppressah"  had  destroyed  everything  else.  His 
''beautiful  mansion  on  the  Cumbe'land,"  and  all  his 
"niggahs,"  had  been  lost  in  the  fury  of  the  conflict. 
His  "pussonal  fo'tune"  was  a  wreck. 

He  was  over  seventy,  and  quite  gray,  but  his  erect 
military  figure  and  splendid  health  somewhat  belied 
his  years.  He  was  rather  indolent  in  his  movements, 
but  as  he  sat  in  his  hickory  arm  chair  before  the 
stone  fire  place,  the  lights  that  played  over  his  storm 
beaten  features  pictured  a  warrior  in  repose. 

His  heavy  moustache  was  trained  down  in  horse- 
shoe fashion  on  each  side  of  his  chin,  and  then 
twisted  outward  in  a  way  that  gave  his  face  a  re- 
doubtable expression  when  he  frowned.  He  would 
often  stand  before  the  three-cornered  piece  of  mir- 
ror attached  to  the  outside  of  the  house,  combing  and 
recombing  the  bellicose  ornament,  and  observing  it 
attentively,  until  he  achieved  particular  curves  at 
the  ends  that  pleased  his  fancy.  Apparently  he  af- 
fected a  formidable  facial  aspect,  becoming  to  one 
who  had  led  charging  men. 

Evidently  he  had  somewhere  received  a  fair  edu- 

[208] 


CoLoxEL    Jasper    M.    Peets 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

cation,  but  outside  of  fiction,  a  field  he  had  widely 
covered,  he  seemed  to  have  little  interest  in  books. 
His  former  environment  had  left  a  romantic  polish, 
heightened  by  a  florid  imagination.  His  character 
had  been  moulded  by  the  traditions  of  the  south 
and  they  were  the  only  religion  he  had.  His  vanity 
was  delightful,  and  he  had  the  heart  of  a  child. 
Little  gifts  of  tobacco  and  cigars  made  him  happy 
for  hours,  and  there  was  a  subtle  lovable  quality 
about  him  that  radiated  even  in  his  foibles. 

The  old  house  stood  on  the  rising  ground,  among 
tall  elms  and  walnuts,  about  two  hundred  feet  from 
the  river.  It  had  never  been  painted.  Some  of  the 
clapboards  and  shingles  were  missing  and  others 
were  loose.  When  the  wind  blew,  stray  currents 
permeated  the  structure,  and  there  were  mournful 
sounds  between  the  walls — ^like  the  meanings  of 
uneasy  ghosts. 

The  little  log  barn  was  decayed  and  tenantless, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  scraggly  hens  and  a 
vicious  looking  old  game  cock.  The  Colonel  had 
bought  him  somewhere  and  annexed  him  to  his  es- 
tate— possibly  as  a  concession  to  his  early  sporting 
instincts,  or  for  sympathetic  reasons.  They  were 
both  warriors  of  better  days. 

In  an  enclosure  beyond  the  bam  were  half  a 
dozen  young  razor  backed  pigs.  These  noisy  shoats 
were  a  continual  source  of  irritation  to  the  Colonel. 
He  declared  that  he  would  shoot  the  two  sopranos 
and  let  the  other  pork  loose  if  Seth  Mussey,  who 
looked  after  them,  did  not  put  muzzles  on  them  or 

[209] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

find  some  other  way  of  keeping  them  quiet  at  night. 
The  Colonel  did  not  do  any  '*wo'k  on  the  fahm." 
This  was  attended  to  by  Mussey  ''on  shares." 
Mussey  lived  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and  was  the 
only  neighbor.  The  "shares"  were  not  very  re- 
munerative, but,  added  to  the  Colonel's  other  small 
resources,  they  made  existence  possible. 

A  narrow  path  led  down  to  the  river  bank,  where 
the  Colonel  kept  his  row  boat  and  a  small  duck 
canoe  which  he  propelled  with  a  long  paddle.  The 
landing  consisted  of  a  couple  of  logs  secured  with 
stakes,  and  overlaid  with  planks.  During  high  water 
in  the  spring  the  landing  usually  floated  away  and 
a  new  one  was  built  when  the  freshets  subsided. 
There  was  an  air  of  general  shiftlessness  about  the 
place  that  would  have  been  depressing  to  anybody 
who  did  not  know  its  eccentric  proprietor. 

He  spent  much  of  his  time  fishing  on  the  river 
in  the  summer  and  early  fall  until  the  ducks  began 
to  come  in.  During  the  game  seasons  he  acted  as 
host,  guide  and  "pusher"  for  duck  hunters,  who 
sometimes  spent  weeks  with  him.  They  had  rare 
sport  on  the  big  marsh,  but  were  compelled  to  suffer 
some  hardships  at  the  Colonel's  house.  He  did  the 
cooking,  or  rather  he  heated  the  things  that  were 
featen,  and  some  of  them  baJBfled  analysis. 

One  of  his  guests  once  told  of  a  "mud-hen  hash" 
that  the  Colonel  had  compounded,  in  which  there 
were  many  feathers,  and  of  some  "snapping  turtle 
soup"  where  all  was  lost  but  the  adjective.  The 
complaining  visitor  had  slept  on  the  floor,  with  a 

[210] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

bag  of  shelled  com  for  a  pillow,  and  the  unholy 
mess,  with  a  cup  of  doubtful  coffee,  had  been  served 
for  breakfast,  but  he  soon  got  ''broken  in"  and 
learned  to  put  up  with  these  things  if  he  wanted  to 
shoot  ducks  with  the  Colonel. 

The  various  dishes,  when  cooked  for  the  first  time, 
could  usually  be  identified,  but  succeeding  compo- 
sitions were  culinary  by-products,  and  afforded  few 
clues  to  their  component  parts,  except  to  a  con- 
tinuous and  very  observant  guest. 

I  once  ate  some  "fish  chowder"  with  the  Colonel, 
which,  if  it  had  been  called  almost  anything  else, 
would  have  been  really  very  good.  I  never  knew 
the  ingredients,  and  doubt  if  its  author  could  have 
reconstructed  it,  or  have  given  an  accurate  account 
of  its  contents.  Some  one  has  aptly  said,  ''if  you 
want  to  be  happy  don't  inquire  into  things,"  and  the 
injunction  seemed  quite  applicable  to  the  Colonel's 
fare. 

There  are  many  accidents — ^both  happy  and  sad 
— in  cookery.  A  wise  cook  is  never  free  with 
recipes,  for,  in  any  art,  formula  dissipates  mystery 
that  is  often  essential  to  appreciation.  Some  cooks 
enter  where  angels  fear  to  tread,  and  when  the  trip 
is  successful  the  glory  is  properly  theirs.  Their 
task  is  thankless,  and  malediction  is  upon  them  when 
they  fail.  They  are  in  contact  with  elemental  in- 
stincts, and  their  occupation  is  perilous,  for  they 
are  between  an  animal  and  its  meat. 

One  stormy  night  we  sat  before  the  crackling  fire. 
The  loose  clapboards  rattled  outside  and  the  big 

[211] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVEE 

trees  were  grumbling  in  the  wind.  "Water  dripped 
from  the  leaky  roof  and  little  streams  crept  across 
the  floor. 

I  had  come  down  the  river  in  a.  small  rowboat, 
and  intended  to  spend  a  week  fishing  for  bass  in 
the  stream  and  sketching  in  the  big  marsh. 

*'You  must  pa 'don  the  appeahance  of  things 
'round  heah,"  remarked  the  Colonel.  "Theah  is  a 
lot  of  fixin'  up  to  be  done,  and  the  weatheh  has 
been  so  pleasant  lately  that  that  infe'nal  Mussey 
has  had  to  wo'k  out  doahs.  If  this  weatheh  stays 
bad  he  will  come  in  heah  an'  straighten  things  up." 

He  had  queer  notions  regarding  work.  There 
were  some  things  that  he  would  do  diligently,  and 
others  he  considered  beneath  his  dignity.  The  line 
of  demarcation  was  confused,  and  I  was  never  quite 
able  to  be  certain  of  it.  He  cooked  and  partially 
washed  the  dishes,  but  never  swept  the  floors,  or 
fed  the  chickens  and  shoats  at  the  bam.  He  never 
repaired  anything  except  under  urgent  necessity, 
and  his  idea  of  order  was  not  to  disturb  anything 
after  he  had  let  go  of  it. 

''You  may  be  interested  to  know,  suh,  that  I  have 
been  occupying  my  spaiah  time  writing  my  mem- 
oahs, ' '  he  continued.  *  *  I  have  collected  the  scattehed 
reco'ds  of  my  careah.  I  have  no  descendants,  an' 
I  may  say  to  you  confidentially,  as  one  gentleman 
to  anotheh,  that  I  do  not  expect  any,  suh,  so  theah 
will  be  nobody  to  take  pride  in  my  literary  wo'k 
afteh  I  am  gone,  but  the  gene'l  public,  but  as  a  paht 

[212] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

of  the  history  of  the  south,  durin'  its  period  of  great 
trial,  I  think  my  memoahs  would  be  valuable. 

"I  am  going  to  put  my  memoahs  in  the  fawm 
of  a  novel,  suh,  an'  I  have  had  to  mix  up  a  lot  of 
otheh  people  in  it  who  ah,  to  some  extent,  fictitious, 
so  my  book  will  be  a  combination  of  fact  and 
romance.  I  have  thought  it  all  oveh.  I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  a  book  to  be  populah  must  be  a  story. 
It  must  have  a  plot,  and  somebody  must  get  married 
on  the  last  page.  I  am  writing  such  a  story,  suh, 
and  am  weaving  the  main  incidents  of  my  careah 
into  the  plot.  In  this  way  I  will  get  my  history 
befoah  a  great  many  people  who  nevah  read  mem- 
oahs. I  will  gild  what  is  the  real  pill,  so  to  speak, 
by  dipping  it  into  the  bright  hued  watehs  of 
romance. 

*'I  am  having  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with  my 
plot,  suh.  Theah  is  a  fellah  in  it  by  the  name  of 
Puddington  Calkins.  I  want  to  kill  this  cussed 
Calkins,  but  if  I  kill  'im  I  will  have  nobody  to  marry 
to  the  mystehious  veiled  lady  that  I  see  in  the  dim 
distance.  She  is  gliding  towa'd  the  web  of  my  plot, 
but  I  do  not  yet  know  whetheh  she  comes  upon  an 
errand  of  vengeance,  or  to  demand  justice  foh  her 
child.  This  veiled  lady  is  pe 'fumed  with  tube  rose, 
suh,  and  I  hate  to  leave  her  out,  foh,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  bou'bon,  tube  rose  is  my  favorite  odeh, 
and  that  reminds  me,  suh — pahdon  me  just  one 
moment. ' ' 

The  Colonel  arose  and  went  to  the  cupboard.  He 
brought  forth  a  tall  bottle,  poured  a  liberal  dose 

[213] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

into  a  tin  cup,  and  swallowed  it  with  impressive 
solemnity. 

''That  bou'bon  came  fo'm  Tennessee.  It  was 
sent  to  me  by  an  old  friend  who  was  related  to 
Jedge  Benton  of  Nashville.  When  the  Jedge  died 
he  had  two  bar 'Is  of  this  noble  fluid  in  his  cellah, 
and  one  of  them  was  left  to  my  friend  in  the  Jedge 's 
will.  It  had  been  twenty-foah  yeahs  in  the  wood, 
suh.  I  was  fo'tunate  enough  to  be  presented  with 
some  of  that  wonde'ful  whiskey.  I  am  sorry,  suh, 
that  you  do  not  indulge,  foh  you  ah  missin'  some- 
thing that  puts  spangles  on  a  sad  life,  suh ! 

''Most  people  drink  whiskey  foh  its  alcohol,  and 
such  people,  suh,  should  pat'onize  a  drug  stoah.  A 
gentleman  drinks  it  foh  its  flavah,  and  that  reminds 
me,  suh,  that  birdy  cannot  fly  with  one  wing,  an' 
if  you'll  pahdon  me  I'll  take  anotheh." 

After  replacing  what  was  left  of  the  "bou'bon," 
the  Colonel  stuffed  some  flagrant  tobacco  into  a 
much  darkened  cob  pipe,  contemplated  the  ascend- 
ing wreaths  for  a  while,  and  reverted  to  his  novel. 

''The  plot  of  that  story  is  a  pe'plexity  to  me,  suh. 
I  think  of  things  to  put  in  it  when  I  am  out  on  the 
rivah,  and  when  I  get  back  I  fo'get  what  they  ah. 
I  am  going  to  get  some  moah  papeh  and  write  the 
whole  thing  oveh.  Maybe  I  will  kill  that  infe'nal 
Pud  Calkins  and  I  will  myself  marry  that  female 
whose  face  is  concealed.  Somebody  must  marry  her 
or  she  will  be  left  without  suppo't  at  the  end  of  the 
book.    People  will  nevah  buy  my  memoahs.     They 

[214] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

will  look  in  the  back,  and  if  theah  is  no  wedding 
theah,  they  will  cast  the  volume  aside. 

' '  That  Pud  Calkins  is  much  on  my  mind,  suh.  He 
is  a  predicament.  He  wakes  me  f 'om  my  slumbehs, 
an'  sits  beside  me  at  my  humble  meals.  He  has 
dammed  up  the  flow  of  my  fancy  in  my  novel,  suh. 
I  have  nevah  read  a  novel  that  had  anything  like 
him  in  it.  He  is  a  damned  nuisance,  suh,  and  he 
has  got  to  go. 

''The  next  time  you  come  down  I  would  like  to 
read  to  you  what  I  have  written.  It  is  too  much 
mixed  up  now,  but  I  will  have  it  all  in  o'deh  when 
you  come  again.  And  anotheh  thing  that  bothehs 
me  is  my  chestnut  filly  that  I  rode  durin'  the  wah. 
I  have  got  to  have  her  in  the  story.  I  rode  her 
through  battle  smoke  and  oveh  fields  of  ca'nage. 
I  was  at  the  head  of  my  men,  suh,  an'  ev'ry  fall  of 
her  hoofs  was  on  dead  Yankees  that  fell  befoah 
ouah  onslaught.  It  would  break  my  heaht  if  Pud 
Calkins  should  evah  ride  that  hawss,  even  in  a  story, 
and  yet  Pud  Calkins  was  on  the  field  where  I  fell 
covehed  with  wounds,  and  he  rode  some  hawss  home 
to  tell  the  tale,  and  if  he  had  some  otheh  hawss,  I 
would  have  to  leave  my  filly  out,  foh  only  one  live 
hawss  was  left  at  the  end  of  that  cha'ge,  and  that 
was  the  one  I  fell  f'om,  an'  Great  Gawd,  man,  I 
couldn  't  kill  my  filly ! 

"  Of  CO  'se  my  hawss  will  succumb  in  my  memoahs 
to  the  immutable  laws  of  natcha,  but  that  must  ap- 
peah  as  the  reco'd  of  the  actual  fact,  afteh  the  wah 
was  oveh.     She  will  not  die  by  my  hand,  even  in 

[215] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

fiction — no,  suh !    I  will  kill  Pud  Calkins  a  thousand 
times  first,  suh! 

''The  prepahation  of  all  this  written  matteh  has 
been  a  great  labah  to  me,  but  it  has  occupied  many 
houahs  that  would  othe'wise  be  unbeahable  in  this 
Gawd  fo'saken  country.  I  sit  heah  by  my  fiah  and 
wo'k  with  my  pen,  but  this  Pud  Calkins  is  always 
by  my  side,  suh/' 

Barring  a  few  unavoidable  discomforts,  I  spent 
a  very  pleasant  week  with  the  Colonel.  The  fishing 
had  been  good,  and  there  was  a  world  of  interest 
and  joy  in  the  stretches  of  the  great  marsh,  teem- 
ing with  wild  life,  and  filled  with  the  gentle  melo- 
dies of  hidden  waters. 

I  paid  mine  host  his  modest  bill,  bade  him  good 
bye  at  the  landing,  rowed  up  stream,  and,  after 
spending  a  day  with  Tipton  Posey  at  Bundy's 
Bridge,  left  the  river  country. 

It  was  six  months  before  I  returned.  I  sought 
the  Colonel  and  found  him  much  changed.  A  trou- 
ble had  come  upon  him.  His  eye  had  lost  its  lustre, 
he  had  an  air  of  listlessness  and  preoccupation,  and 
he  looked  older. 

It  seemed  that  there  had  been  great  excitement 
in  the  county  after  my  departure,  and  the  Colonel 
had  been  the  storm  center. 

When  we  had  finished  our  simple  evening  meal, 
and  had  lighted  our  pipes  before  the  fire,  the  Colo- 
nel handed  me  a  copy  of  The  Index,  the  weekly  pa- 
per, published  at  the  county  seat.  Its  date  was 
about  four  months  old. 

[216] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

''I  would  like  to  have  you  read  that,  suh,  and  then 
I  will  hand  you  anotheh." 

On  the  front  page  were  some  glaring  headlines: 
THE  BURGLAEY!!!— THE  EXPLOSION!!!— 
THE  PURSUIT ! ! !  I  read  the  account  with  deep 
interest,  which  was  as  follows: 

"On  Monday  morning  of  June  10th  a  crowd  as- 
sembled in  front  of  the  County  Treasurer's  office  at 
the  Court  House,  amid  very  unusual  circumstances. 
Nearly  seven  thousand  dollars  were  known  to  have 
been  in  the  safe  Saturday  night,  and  now  as  the 
anxious  citizens  crowded  through  the  door,  they 
saw  a  ruined  open  safe,  and  abundant  evidences  of 
a  fearful  explosion.  A  steel  drill,  some  files,  and 
an  empty  can  that  had  probably  contained  the  ex- 
plosive compound,  were  scattered  about  on  the 
floor.  The  rugs  were  in  a  pile  near  the  safe,  where 
they  had  probably  been  used  to  muffle  the  explosion. 
The  money  was  gone. 

''It  was  learned  that  a  stranger  of  singular  ap- 
pearance, and  marked  individualities,  with  a  gray 
coat,  a  heavy  gray  moustache  and  long  chin  whis- 
kers, who  entered  the  town  last  Friday,  and  had 
been  observed  by  many  of  the  citizens  during  Fri- 
day and  Saturday,  had  deposited  at  the  Treasurer's 
office,  for  safe  keeping,  a  box  represented  to  con- 
tain valuables.  This  box,  made  of  tin,  some  eight 
inches  in  length  and  five  in  width,  was  deposited 
on  Friday,  and  taken  out  on  Saturday  morning.  It 
was  again  deposited  on  Saturday  afternoon,  to  be 
called  for  on  Monday  morning. 

[217] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEE 

**Tlie  county  treasurer,  the  Hon.  Truman  W. 
Pettibone,  had  gone  fishing  on  Thursday  and  ex- 
pected to  remain  away  until  Tuesday,  as  is  his  cus- 
tom during  the  summer  months. 

''The  mysterious  stranger  was  waited  on  by  Mr. 
J.  Milton  Tuttle,  the  courteous  and  well-known 
clerk  in  the  treasurer's  office.  Mr.  Tuttle 's  charm- 
ing daughter  has  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  her 
aunt  in  Oak  Grove  township — ^but  we  digress.  J. 
Milton  Tuttle  had  no  suspicions,  and  retired  at  eve- 
ning to  his  home  and  his  interesting  family. 

*'The  stranger  was  thought  by  several  citizens  to 
have  taken  the  evening  train,  but  was  seen  lurking 
around  town,  with  a  slouch  hat  pulled  well  down 
over  his  eyes,  at  a  late  hour  Saturday  night.  He 
entered  the  Busy  Bee  Buffet  at  eleven  o'clock  and 
was  served  by  Mr.  Oscar  Sheets,  the  gentlemanly 
bartender.  He  immediately  departed.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  he  spent  the  night  in  some  bam. 

*'It  was  ascertained  that  the  tall  and  singular 
looking  man,  in  the  gray  coat,  who  appeared  to  be 
disguised,  was  seen  on  Sunday  morning  to  enter  the 
front  door  of  the  Court  House.  This  door,  as  is 
well  known,  is  usually  left  open  on  Sunday  for  the 
convenience  of  Sunday  callers  who  wish  to  read  the 
legal  notices  on  the  bulletin  board  in  the  hallway. 

*'Miss  Anastasia  Simpson,  an  unmarried  lady, 
living  near  the  Court  House,  noticed  particularly 
that  the  stranger  was  very  distinguished  looking. 
She  watched  from  her  window  for  his  reappearance, 
which  did  not  take  place  until  three  in  the  afternoon, 

[218] 


Miss   Anastasia    Simpson 


THE  PEEDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

when  he  departed  seemingly  in  a  state  of  great  per- 
turbation and  excitement. 

''It  was  ascertained  that  Mr.  Wellington  Peters, 
proprietor  of  the  prominent  and  well  known  low 
priced  hardware  store  bearing  his  name,  and  whose 
business  is  advertised  in  our  columns,  while  stand- 
ing on  the  corner  talking  with  a  traveling  man  near 
the  hotel,  heard  a  dull  booming  sound  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  court  house,  at  about  2 :45  P.  M.,  but 
thinking  that  it  was  boys  making  some  kind  of  a 
racket,  he  paid  no  attention  to  it.  Several  other 
prominent  and  well  known  citizens  heard  the  same 
sound  at  the  same  hour. 

"The  tall  and  mysterious  stranger  was  seen  by 
Miss  Simpson  to  walk  south  after  leaving  the  court 
house.  She  went  to  another  window  to  further  ob- 
serve him,  but  he  had  disappeared. 

''The  little  tin  box  which  the  artful  and  design- 
ing robber  had  left  'for  safe  keeping*  with  J.  Mil- 
ton Tuttle,  and  which  he  locked  up  in  the  safe,  was 
opened  and  found  to  contain  nothing  but  a  bag  of 
sand. 

"It  was  evident  to  all  that  the  tin  box  was  a  sub- 
terfuge. It  was  used  as  an  excuse  to  visit  and  in- 
spect the  'lay  of  the  land'  in  the  office  of  the  treas- 
urer of  our  county. 

"About  noon,  on  Monday,  a  posse  was  formed  by 
the  Hon.  Cyrus  Butts,  our  gentlemanly  and  efficient 
sheriff.  The  posse,  consisting  of  three  prominent 
and  well  known  citizens,  Oliver  K.  Gardner,  Silas 
B.  Kendall  and  Elmer  Dinwiddie,  accompanied  by 

[219] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

the  sheriff,  made  a  circuit  of  the  town.  They  as- 
certained that  the  mysterious  stranger  had  stopped 
at  the  pleasant  little  home  of  Mr.  Mike  Carney,  the 
genial  and  well  known  butcher  of  our  town,  and 
asked  for  a  drink  of  water,  which  was  given  him. 
He  had  then  taken  a  southerly  direction  along  the 
section  line  road.  The  posse  procured  Toppington 
Smith's  mottled  blood  hound  and  put  the  intelligent 
animal  on  the  trail  of  the  fleeing  burglar.  The  pur- 
suit continued  for  about  twelve  miles.  The  fugitive 
was  evidently  making  a  bee  line  along  the  section 
road  for  the  river  marshes.  A  team  was  met  on 
the  road,  with  a  load  of  baled  hay,  and  impressed 
into  service.  All  of  the  bales  but  two  were  un- 
loaded and  left  by  the  roadside.  The  two  bales  were 
retained  on  the  wagon  for  use  as  a  barricade  in  case 
of  a  revolver  battle  with  the  burglar. 

''Drivers  of  teams,  met  along  the  route,  reported 
seeing  a  man  enter  the  woods  before  they  met  him, 
and  go  back  into  the  road  a  long  ^ays  behind 
them  after  they  had  passed.  The  variations  in  the 
course  taken  by  the  hound  confirmed  this. 

"About  ten  o'clock  at  night  there  was  a  full  moon. 
The  trail  left  the  road  and  led  into  some  thick  un- 
derbrush, near  a  small  slough.  Some  smoke  issued 
from  the  brush,  where  the  fugitive  had  evidently 
built  a  fire  and  expected  to  spend  the  night.  The 
place  was  surrounded  and  the  posse  cautiously  ad- 
vanced, but  the  burglar  was  gone.  It  was  thought 
that  the  cunning  malefactor  had  got  wind  of  his 
pursuers,  that  he  had  turned  aside  and  lighted  this 

[220] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

fire  in  the  brush  with  a  view  of  delaying  and  baf- 
fling those  behind  him  with  artful  strategy. 

"The  hound  left  the  brush,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  a  tall  figure,  with  a  Kght  gray  coat,  was  seen 
a  few  hundred  yards  away  on  a  bare  ridge  in  the 
moonlight.  It  was  unquestionably  the  fugitive  and 
the  hound  was  with  him.  The  posse  opened  fire  with 
revolvers,  but  at  such  a  distance  it  was  futile.  The 
man  and  the  dog  disappeared  over  the  ridge  into 
the  woods.  The  burglar  had  escaped,  and  the  .dog 
had  evidently  joined  forces  with  him. 

"Further  pursuit  that  night  was  considered  hope- 
less. The  posse  slept  at  a  farm  house  and  resumed 
the  search  Tuesday  morning.  They  found  the  dog 
tied  to  a  tree  near  the  edge  of  the  big  marsh,  there 
were  tracks  in  the  soft  mud  at  the  margin  of  the 
slough,  and  an  old  boat  belonging  to  a  farmer  in 
the  vicinity  was  gone.  There  were  marks  in  the 
mud  showing  where  the  boat  had  been  shoved  out  to 
the  water. 

"The  pursuit  was  abandoned  and  the  posse  re- 
turned home.  A  full  description  of  the  robber  was 
sent  broadcast,  and  it  is  thought  that  his  capture  is 
only  a  matter  of  time. 

"Up  to  the  hour  of  going  to  press  there  are  no 
further  particulars  to  record,  but  we  hope  that  be- 
fore our  next  issue,  justice  will  triumph,  and  the 
burglar  with  his  ill  gotten  booty  will  be  within  its 
grasp.'* 

"And  now,  suh,  will  you  please  cast  youah  eye 
[221] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

oveh  this  reco'd  of  infamy,"  requested  the  Colonel, 
as  he  handed  me  a  later  copy  of  the  same  paper. 

The  next  account  was  headed: 

''AEEESTED!!!  —  PRELIMINARY 
HEARING ! ! !— HABEAS  CORPUS !  I ! " 
and  it  read  as  follows: 

' '  We  are  able  to  announce  that  the  crafty  and  re- 
sourceful robber  of  the  county  treasurer's  office,  who 
so  successfully  eluded  the  grasp  of  his  pursuers, 
and  made  good  his  retreat  into  the  river  marshes, 
has  probably  been  apprehended. 

''The  evidence  seems  to  indicate  that  one  Col. 
Peets,  who  lives  on  a  small  farm  on  the  river,  above 
the  marsh,  is  the  culprit. 

"He  was  captured  there  by  the  sheriff,  the  day 
after  our  last  week's  issue  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
public.  He  offered  no  resistance.  The  information 
that  led  to  his  capture  was  received  from  Mr.  Tip- 
ton Posey  who  keeps  the  well  known  general  store 
near  Bundy's  Bridge.  Mr.  Posey  stated  that  the 
description  of  the  robber,  printed  in  this  paper,  ex- 
actly fitted  Col.  Peets,  with  the  exception  of  the  chin 
whiskers,  which  he  thought  were  false. 

''This  paper  is  invariably  modest  and  unassum- 
ing. It  vaunteth  not  itself,  but  we  may  say,  with- 
out undue  self  glorification,  that  it  was  the  thor- 
oughness of  the  journalistic  work  of  this  paper  that 
made  the  description  of  the  robber  available,  and 
that  this  capture  is  therefore  exclusively  due  to  the 
enterprise  of  The  Index.  Our  circulation  covers  the 
entire  county.    Our  advertising  rates  will  be  found 

[222] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

on  another  page.  Our  subscription  rates  are  two 
dollars  a  year,  cash,  or  two  fifty  in  produce — strictly 
in  advance. 

*'CoL  Peets  claims  to  be  an  ex-officer  in  the  Rebel 
Army.  He  bears  a  bad  reputation  along  the  river, 
and  is  said  to  be  a  man  of  immoral  character. 

''The  prisoner  was  securely  lodged  in  the  county 
jail,  and,  after  the  usual  legal  forms,  he  was  brought 
before  the  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  preliminary 
hearing. 

"When  the  morning  of  the  examination  came,  the 
court  was  thronged  as  it  never  has  been  before.  The 
ladies  crowded  the  room  as  they  had  never  done  at 
any  court  during  our  existence  as  a  county,  while 
the  trial  progressed,  manifesting  a  strange  interest, 
which  has  never  been  exhibited  till  now,  for  or 
against  any  prisoner.  And  yet  not  so  strange,  for 
a  remarkable  prisoner  appeared  before  them.  He 
was  tall,  strongly  built,  with  a  heavy  moustache, 
and  pale — as  though  just  recovering  from  an  ill- 
ness— ^marked  in  his  individualities,  a  man  of  mar- 
tial bearing,  whom  one  would  expect  to  recognize 
among  ten  thousand. 

''Every  female  eye  was  uninterruptedly  focussed 
on  this  striking  looking  man  during  the  entire  hear- 
ing. He  was  claimed  to  be  the  same  stranger  who 
had  blown  open  the  safe  and  abstracted  the  seven 
thousand  dollars  of  the  county's  money.  The  loss 
will  of  course  have  to  be  made  good  by  the 
treasurer  or  his  bondsmen,  if  the  plunder  is  not 
recovered  from  the  thief,  and  much  sympathy  is  felt 

[223] 


THE  VANISHING  EWER 

for  the  Hon.  Truman  W.  Pettibone,  who  has  long 
borne  an  enviable  and  unsullied  reputation  in  our 
midst. 

''Several  of  the  ladies  present  were  to  appear 
among  the  witnesses  in  behalf  of  the  state  and  for 
the  defense.  The  question  under  consideration  was 
the  identity  of  this  tall  mysterious  looking  prisoner 
and  that  tall  disguised  stranger  who  was  unques- 
tionably responsible  before  the  law  for  the  astound- 
ing burglary. 

''The  counsel  for  the  state  was  the  Hon.  John 
Wesley  Watts,  our  brilliant  and  alert  county  attor- 
ney. The  prisoner  was  represented  by  W.  St.  John 
Hopkins,  whose  very  name  smacks  of  irreverence 
for  the  Holy  Writ.  He  is  a  young  aspiring  sprig 
of  the  law  who  has  recently  come  into  our  midst. 

"It  seems  that  this  man  Hopkins,  who  parts  both 
his  name  and  his  hair  in  the  middle,  volunteered  to 
defend  the  prisoner  without  compensation,  prob- 
ably for  the  purpose  of  showing  off  his  talents.  The 
prisoner  was  without  counsel,  and  claimed  to  have 
no  funds  with  which  to  hire  one.  They  seemed  to 
be  suspiciously  good  friends  in  court.  Whether  or 
not  a  part  of  the  loot  from  the  exploded  safe  has 
covertly  changed  hands  in  payment  for  certain  legal 
services  during  the  past  few  days,  it  is  not  within 
the  province  of  this  paper  to  determine,  or  even 
hint. 

"The  examination  continued  during  Wednesday 
and  Thursday,  excellent  order  prevailing  in  the 
court  room.     Many  citizens  gave  strong  testimony 

[224] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

both  for  and  against  the  prisoner.  The  public  were 
deeply  interested  in  the  solution  of  the  question, 
and  there  were  strong  and  conflicting  opinions  as 
to  the  identity  of  the  prisoner  in  the  minds  of  all 
present.  The  progress  of  the  examination,  as  nu- 
merous witnesses  were  examined  who  had  seen  the 
prowling  and  disguised  stranger,  and  who  now  saw 
the  prisoner,  brought  distinctly  to  notice  the  great 
difference  which  exists  in  the  observing  power  of 
different  individuals.  Many  thought  that  if  the 
prisoner  had  on  a  gray  coat,  and  had  a  long  chin 
beard,  in  addition  to  his  moustache,  they  could  ab- 
solutely swear  to  his  identity.  Others  thought  that 
the  stranger  had  worn  false  whiskers  and  had  par- 
ticularly noticed  it  at  the  time. 

'^J.  Milton  Tuttle  did  not  think  that  the  chin 
whiskers  were  false,  or  that  the  prisoner  was  the 
man  who  left  the  tin  box  for  safe  keeping.  He  was 
quite  positive  that  he  would  recognize  the  man  if  he 
ever  saw  him  again. 

*'Miss  Anastasia  Simpson,  the  unmarried  lady, 
whose  eyes  were  glued  on  the  mystic  stranger  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  court  house,  and  whose  eyes  were 
glued  on  the  prisoner  during  the  entire  course  of 
the  trial,  swore  absolutely  that  he  was  not  the  same 
man.  Possibly  the  reasons  that  prompted  such  posi- 
tive testimony  may  be  best  known  to  herself. 

**The  prisoner,  under  the  whispered  advice  of 
young  Hopkins,  declined  to  go  upon  the  stand,  which 
in  itself,  in  the  opinion  of  most  of  those  present, 
was  conclusive  evidence  of  guilt. 

[225] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

''The  state's  attorney  made  an  able  and  scholarly 
address  to  the  court,  and  presented  a  masterly  re- 
view of  the  evidence. 

''Hopkins  contented  himself  with  claiming  that 
no  evidence  had  been  adduced  to  justify  the  court 
in  holding  his  client.  No  false  whiskers  or  gray 
coat  had  been  produced,  and  no  witness  had  posi- 
tively sworn  to  the  prisoner's  identity.  On  the 
contrary,  the  only  witness  who  had  conversed  with 
the  alleged  robber,  Mr.  J.  Milton  Tuttle,  had  failed 
to  connect  him  with  the  crime,  and  Miss  Simpson, 
who  had  long  and  carefully  observed  both  men,  had 
declared  under  her  solemn  oath  that  they  were  not 
the  same. 

*'He  claimed  that  the  cord  that  held  his  client 
was  a  rope  of  sand,  and  had  the  effrontery  to  com- 
ment sarcastically  on  the  account  of  the  pursuit  of 
the  flying  burglar  that  appeared  exclusively  in  our 
last  week's  issue.  He  indulged  in  sardonic  levity  at 
the  expense  of  the  public-spirited  posse,  and  re- 
marked that  it  was  queer  that  its  dog  had  shown  a 
preference  for  the  society  of  an  alleged  thief.  He 
suggested  that  the  two  bales  of  hay,  that  were  re- 
tained on  the  pursuit  wagon,  were  better  adapted 
for  food  for  the  posse  than  for  a  barricade. 

*'The  outburst  of  indecent  laughter  that  greeted 
this  impudent  sally  was  promptly  suppressed  by  the 
court,  who  threatened  to  clear  the  room  if  anything 
of  the  kind  was  repeated.  The  court  sternly  re- 
buked the  offending  attorney,  and  cautioned  him  to 

[226] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

confine  his  remarks  strictly  to  the  merits  of  the 
case  before  the  court. 

*' Hopkins  apologized  to  the  court  and  claimed 
that  humor  was  a  malady  of  his  early  youth  and 
that  he  had  never  been  entirely  cured. 

''The  court  retired  to  its  library  and  took  the 
case  under  advisement  for  an  hour,  during  which 
time  the  crowd  waited  in  anxious  suspense.  When 
the  court  returned  it  held  Col.  Peets  to  the  Circuit 
Court— placing  his  recognizance  at  three  thousand 
dollars,  in  default  of  which  the  prisoner  was  re- 
manded to  the  custody  of  the  sheriff. 

''Much  satisfaction  was  expressed  at  the  decision 
of  the  court.  Judge  Mark  W.  Giddings,  our  able 
and  learned  Justice  of  the  Peace,  is  a  man  of  lofty 
attainments  and  an  ornament  to  the  bench.  He  has 
one  of  the  finest  law  libraries  in  the  county.  He  is 
of  fine  old  New  England  stock,  his  ancestors  having 
come  over  in  the  Mayflower.  He  is  one  of  the  oldest 
and  most  valued  subscribers  to  this  newspaper. 

"The  press  forms  of  this  issue  of  our  paper  were 
held  until  proceedings  in  this  case  were  disposed  of, 
that  the  inchoate  attorney  representing  the  prisoner, 
began  before  the  court  now  in  session  at  the  court 
house. 

"He  asked  for  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  and  his 
client  has  been  turned  loose  on  the  community! 

"We  may  say,  that  while  it  may  be  that  no  jury 
would  have  convicted  this  man  Peets,  who  admits 
that  he  was  once  an  enemy  of  his  country,  and  while 
the  testimony  was  strongly  conflicting,  the  opinion 

[227] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

is  strong  in  this  community  that  the  honorable  Jus- 
tice of  the  Peace  rendered  a  perfectly  just  decision. 

''The  opinions  of  this  journal  have  always  been 
impartial,  and,  under  the  circumstances  it  is  far  be 
it  from  us  to  express  one,  but  not  to  mention  any 
names,  there  is  a  certain  fresh  young  lawyer  in 
this  town  who  has  a  tendency  to  be  a  smarty,  and 
a  cute  Aleck,  and  to  butt  in  on  things  that  do  not 
concern  him. 

''It  may  be  to  his  interest  to  lay  a  little  lower. 
A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient. 

*'In  addition  to  this,  there  is  a  certain  alien  resi- 
dent in  this  county,  of  military  pretensions,  who 
lives  by  the  sobbing  waters  of  a  certain  river — and 
again  we  do  not  mention  names — ^who  had  better  not 
be  caught  wearing  false  whiskers  when  he  visits  this 
town." 

"And  now,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  patronizing 
wave  of  his  hand  after  he  had  given  me  a  still  later 
copy  of  the  paper,  "I  desiah  you  to  look  at  this  ac- 
count of  the  sequel  of  this  distressing  affaiah." 

On  the  editorial  page  I  read : 

"A  PUBLIC  OUTRAGE!!! 

"It  is  far  from  the  desire  of  this  journal  to  dis- 
cuss the  personal  interests  or  affairs  of  its  editor 
and  proprietor.  The  Index,  as  the  public  well 
knows,  has  ever  been  the  fearless  advocate  of  fair 
play  for  every  citizen,  and  for  every  human  being, 
however  humble,  before  the  law.  Its  motives  have 
always  been  above  reproach.  Notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  it  is  the  county's  greatest  newspaper — 

[228] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

unselfishly  devoted  to  the  public  interest — it  never 
blows  its  own  horn.  It  rarely  mentions  itself  in 
its  own  columns.  It  scorns  to  publish  matter  in  its 
own  interest,  but  the  time  has  come  when  its  clarion 
voice  must  be  raised  to  such  a  pitch  that  it  may  be 
heard  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
county,  so  that  the  public  conscience  may  be  awak- 
ened, and  forever  make  impossible  a  repetition  of 
such  an  outrage  as  occurred  in  front  of  the  post 
office  on  last  Saturday  afternoon. 

*'As  is  well  known  by  all,  the  editor  of  this  paper, 
who  is  also  its  proprietor,  was  publicly  attacked  by 
Col.  Peets,  the  scoundrel  and  erstwhile  prisoner  at 
the  bar  of  justice,  who  figured  so  prominently  and 
so  exclusively  in  the  affair  of  the  robbery  of  the 
safe  in  the  county  treasurer's  office  some  weeks  ago. 

**A  handful  of  our  whiskers  was  seized  and 
twisted  away  by  this  vile  miscreant,  with  the  sup- 
posedly funny  remark  that  he  wanted  them  for  a 
disguise. 

*'We  were  forced  to  our  knees  on  the  dirty  side- 
walk and  commanded  to  apologize  for  certain  state- 
ments that  have  appeared  in  our  paper. 

''We  were  belabored  with  a  rawhide  whip  and 
kicked  into  the  gutter  by  this  burly  old  brute. 

**As  humiliating  as  these  things  are  it  is  neces- 
sary to  mention  them  in  order  to  properly  lay  be- 
fore the  public  the  frightful  enormity  of  the  out- 
rage. 

"It  is,  and  always  has  been  the  policy  of  this  pa- 
per, to  hew  to  the  line  and  let  the  chips  fall  where 

[229] 


THE  VANISHING  EWER 

they  may.  The  Index  thinks  before  it  strikes,  and 
it  never  retracts. 

*'If  editors  are  to  be  publicly  assaulted — if  their 
persons  are  not  sacred — if  the  freedom  of  the  press 
is  to  be  trammelled  and  muzzled  by  supposed  pri- 
vate rights  of  individuals,  and  their  likes  and  dis- 
likes— if  publishers  are  to  be  beaten  up  or  beaten 
down  with  impunity,  or  with  rawhide  whips,  and 
are  to  be  coerced  into  cowardly  silence  by  fear 
of  personal  violence — then  our  republic,  with  its 
vaunted  ideals,  is  a  stupendous  failure. 

**Far  be  it  from  us  to  complain,  or  put  forth  our 
private  wrongs,  but  we  consider  that  we  have  been 
a  martyr  to  the  lawlessness  of  this  community,  and 
to  the  fearless  and  outspoken  attitude  of  our  paper, 

**An  attack  upon  the  person  of  the  editor  of  a 
newspaper  is  an  attack  upon  the  sacred  foundations 
of  human  liberty. 

**The  public  will  be  glad  to  know  that  the  ex- 
ecrable viUain  and  ruffian,  who  assaulted  us,  is  now 
immured  in  the  county  jail,  where  he  was  sent  by 
that  wise  and  upright  Justice  of  the  Peace,  the  Hon. 
Mark  W.  Giddings. 

'*It  is  to  be  devoutly  hoped  that  when  the  term 
of  his  just  imprisonment  expires,  his  presence  in 
the  county  will  be  no  longer  tolerated. 

**For  the  miserable  cowards  and  loafers  who  wit- 
nessed the  premeditated  violence  upon  us  in  front 
of  the  post  office,  and  did  not  interfere,  this  paper 
has  the  most  withering  contempt.     Their  craven 

[230] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

names  are  known,  and  this  journal  will  remember 
them. 

*'To  Constable  Hawkins,  who  arrested  the  assail- 
ant, this  paper — on  behalf  of  the  public — extends  its 
thanks.  Constable  Hawkins  is  an  officer  of  whom 
our  town  may  well  be  proud.  We  wish  him  a  long 
life  of  health  and  happiness.  We  may  mention, 
parenthetically,  that  Constable  Hawkins  and  his 
charming  wife  Sundayed  with  us  two  weeks  ago  and 
a  delightful  time  was  had  by  one  and  all. 

''To  the  misguided  and  mentally  unbalanced  fe- 
males, who  are  daily  sending  flowers  and  sundry 
cooked  dainties  to  the  county  jail,  this  paper  has 
nothing  to  say.  With  the  exception  of  one  of  them, 
who  was  a  witness  at  the  trial,  and  who  shall  here 
be  nameless,  they  all  have  male  relatives  whose  duty 
is  plain.  The  names  of  these  women  are  known  and 
will  be  preserved  in  the  archives  of  this  paper  for 
future  reference.  There  are  certain  rumors  being 
whispered  about  on  our  streets,  that,  from  bigh  mo- 
tives of  public  policy,  will  not  find  a  place  on  our 
columns  until  later. 

''The  sheriff  is  being  quietly  and  severely  criti- 
cized by  many  citizens,  whose  good  opinion  is  worth 
something  to  him  at  election  time,  for  permitting 
these  indulgences  to  a  criminal  in  his  charge. 

"We  have  always  given  our  unqualified  support 
to  Sheriff  Butts  when  he  has  been  a  candidate,  and 
we  hope  that  we  will  not  be  compelled  to  change  our 
opinion  regarding  bis  fitness  for  the  office.    He  will 

[231] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

do  well  to  ponder.  The  eye  of  The  Index  is  upon 
him. 

'  *  The  editor  of  this  paper  is  pleased  to  announce, 
to  relieve  the  public  mind,  that  we  are  recovering 
from  our  undeserved  injuries,  and  will  soon  be  our- 
selves again.  We  feel  deeply  indebted  to  Dr.  Ignace 
Stitt  for  the  wonderful  professional  skill  with  which 
he  attended  us.  The  Doctor's  practice  is  increasing 
rapidly,  and  he  is  now  the  foremost  physician  in  our 
county.  His  office  is  over  Ed  Bang's  drug  store,  and 
he  is  among  the  most  valued  subscribers  of  this 
paper. 

''We  and  our  wife  thank  our  kind  friends  who 
have  sent  us  watermelons,  and  other  delicacies,  dur- 
ing our  confinement. 

''As  a  stern  challenger  of  injustice,  and  an  alert 
defender  of  the  right.  The  Index  wiU  ever,  as  in  the 
past,  be  in  the  forefront.  Its  battle  axe  will  gleam 
in  the  turmoil  of  the  conflict,  and  on  it  will  shine 
our  mottos — Sic  Semper  Tyranus,  and  Honi  soit  qui 
mal  y  penseJ' 

I  laid  the  paper  down  with  the  conviction  that  if 
the  Colonel's  life  previous  to  his  arrival  in  the  river 
country  had  been  as  rapid  as  he  had  been  living  it 
since  he  came,  his  "memoahs"  would  be  quite  a 
large  volume. 

"Now,  suh,"  said  he,  "I  want  to  relate  to  you 
the  inside  history  of  that  robbery,  suh.  I  want  to 
show  you  how  it  is  possible  foh  a  puffectly  inno- 
cent man,  with  puffectly  good  intentions,  to  get  into 

[232] 


THE  PEEDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

a  predicament  in  this  Gawd  fo'  saken  no 'the 'n  coun- 
try. 

"I  was  of  co'se  compelled,  much  against  my  wish, 
to  hawss-whip  the  editah  of  that  rotten  sheet.  He 
was  not  a  gentleman  and  I  could  not  challenge  him, 
suh,  and  it  was  matteh  of  pussonal  honah.  The  facts 
ah  substantially  as  he  states  in  that  sizzling  angel 
song  that  you  have  just  read. 

''I  want  to  say,  suh,  that  I  nevah  spent  a  moah 
pleasant  thi'ty  days  in  my  life  than  I  spent  in  that 
jail.  I  was  theah  in  a  good  cause,  and  I  am  sorry 
it  was  not  sixty  days.  The  sheriff  treated  me  with 
puffect  cou'tesy,  and  I  was  called  on  and  congratu- 
lated by  many  people  who  had  strong  private  opin- 
ions of  that  editah. 

''Those  noble  women  made  my  incahceration  a 
pleasuah,  and  I  may  say,  suh,  without  vanity,  that 
I  have  nevah  been  oblivious  or  insensible  to  the  ef- 
fect that  I  have  always  had  upon  ladies.  Soft  and 
beseeching  eyes  have  been  cast  upon  me  all  my  life, 
suh.  I  discovered  in  that  jail  that  iron  bars  can- 
not destroy  beautiful  visions. 

*'I  was  provided  with  papeh,  and  I  was  enabled 
to  do  a  great  deal  of  wo'k  on  my  memoahs,  and  I 
have  included  in  them  the  events  of  the  past  few 
months,  but  what  I  sta'ted  to  tell  you  was  the  un- 
revealed  facts  of  that  robbery,  suh. 

*'In  odeh  that  you  may  get  a  clear  idea  of  just 
what  happened,  I  must  take  you  back  to  the  awful 
days  of  ouah  wah.  Theah  was  a  high  bo'n  southe'n 
gentleman  in  my  regiment,  suh,  named  Majah  Speed. 

[233] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

He  came  f 'om  one  of  the  best  families  in  Tennessee. 
Theah  was  a  most  unfo'tunate  pussonal  resemblance 
between  us,  and  even  when  we  were  togetheh,  ouah 
best  friends  could  ha'dly  tell  us  apaht.  In  o'deh  not 
to  continue  to  embarrass  ouah  friends,  we  drew 
straws  to  decide  who  should  raise  a  chin  bea'd  in 
addition  to  his  moustache.  The  Majah  lost,  and  I 
still  have  my  military  moustache  without  any  hawss^ 
tail  whiskehs  to  spoil  it.  I  may  say,  suh,  that  I  have 
no  doubt  that  my  moustache  had  its  effect  in  making 
my  stay  at  the  jail  delightful. 

''The  Majah  and  I  have  always  kept  ouah  corre- 
spondence up.  He  came  to  see  me  just  befoah  that 
explosion  at  the  cou't  house.  He  was  in  that  town 
when  it  took  place,  and  he  was  the  man  who  was 
pussued  by  that  posse  and  that  damn  dawg,  whose 
favah  he  won  with  a  piece  of  bologna  sausage. 

"Afteh  the  Majah  entered  the  ma'sh  he  came  di- 
rectly to  my  house  and  explained  the  whole  affaiah. 
We  sunk  the  boat  he  came  in  with  some  stones  in 
the  rivah. 

"That  infe'nal  Milt  Tuttle,  who  was  the  cle'k  in 
the  treasurer's  office,  was  the  scoundrel  that  got  the 
money.  His  folks  came  f'om  Tennessee,  and  he 
knew  the  Majah.  He  was  aweah  that  the  Majah 's 
circumstances  weah  much  reduced,  and  that  he  had 
lost  what  he  had  left  in  the  wo  'Id  at  ca'ds.  He  knew 
that  the  Majah  would  do  almost  anything  to  retrieve 
his  fo 'tunes.  The  love  of  money  was  always  the 
trouble  with  the  Majah,  but  we  all  have  to  be  toler- 
ant of  the  weaknesses  of  ouah  friends,  suh. 

[234] 


THE  PEEDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

''That  scoundrel  Milt  Tuttle  sent  money  to  Ten- 
nessee fob  my  friend  the  Majah  to  come  up  heah. 
He  did  not  know  me,  or  that  I  knew  the  Majah. 
When  the  Majah  came  no  'th  he  came  directly  to  see 
me  and  spent  several  days  at  my  place.  We  went 
down  on  the  ma'sh  togetheh.  He  told  me  about 
Milt  Tuttle  and  said  he  would  come  back  and  pay 
me  a  longeh  visit  a  little  lateh. 

''My  friend  Majah  Speed  went  to  the  county  seat, 
and  the  da'k  scoundrelly  plan  of  Milt  Tuttle  was 
laid  befoah  him.  In  a  moment  of  weakness  the 
Majah  fell,  and  consented  to  blow  open  that  safe 
and  divide  what  he  found  with  Milt  Tuttle.  The 
tools  and  the  explosive  compound  were  hidden  in 
the  ofl&ce  by  Milt  Tuttle,  and  during  several  visits 
he  explained  to  the  Majah  how  he  was  to  proceed. 
He  gave  him  a  duplicate  key  to  the  side  entrance  of 
the  oflSce  around  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  a  map  of 
the  route  he  was  to  take  afteh  he  had  finished  his 
wo'k,  and  on  this  map  was  the  place  wheah  he  was 
to  leave  half  of  what  he  found  in  the  safe.  He  was 
to  cross  the  ma'sh  and  make  his  way  south  to  Ten- 
nessee afteh  it  was  all  oveh. 

"You  can  imagine  the  astonishment  and  chagrin 
of  the  Majah  when  he  found  the  safe  empty  of  funds, 
afteh  he  had  wo'ked  all  day  to  blow  it  open.  He 
was  ho'nswoggled  by  this  infe'nal  thief  of  a  Milt 
Tuttle.  He  had  taken  ev'ry  cent  befoah  the  Majah 
came,  and  left  the  Majah  in  the  lu'ch  to  face  all  the 
consequences,  and  to  get  away  the  best  he  could. 

"When  the  Majah  came  to  me  that  night,  and  told 

[235] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

me  his  tale,  I  was  astounded.  Of  co'se  I  do  not  ap- 
prove of  robbery,  but  the  Majah  had  committed  no 
robbery.  He  had  taken  absolutely  nothing  f 'om  that 
safe,  and  he  was  as  innocent  of  robbery  as  a  child 
unbawn.  Milt  Tuttle  was  the  thief,  and  on  his  ill 
gotten  wealth  he  went  off  somewheah  f o '  his  health, 
but  he  was  stricken  by  a  vengeful  providence  with 
pneumonia,  and  he  is  now  dead,  and  theah  is  no 
way  of  proving  his  dasta'dly  connection  with  the 
affaiah. 

**I  told  the  Majah  that  he  had  been  made  a  cat's 
paw,  and  that  he  had  betteh  go  home  as  fast  as  he 
could.  He  was  without  funds,  and,  unf o 'tunately,  I 
did  not  have  any  to  lend  him,  so  he  sta'ted  fo'  the 
south  on  foot.  That  was  the  last  I  saw  of  the  Majah, 
and  I  had  a  letteh  f'om  one  of  the  fo'mah  officers 
of  ouah  regiment,  that  the  Majah  is  now  dead.  I 
assume,  suh,  that  he  died  of  a  broken  heaht,  all  on 
account  of  the  villainy  of  that  dehty  thief  of  a  Milt 
Tuttle. 

' '  When  I  was  unjustly  and  unf o  'tunately  dragged 
into  that  affaiah,  I  could  have  told  the  whole  story, 
but  I  felt  bound  to  protect  my  friend  the  Majah, 
who  fought  undeh  me  fo'  foah  yeahs.  He  twice 
saved  my  life  on  the  field,  and  foah  such  a  man,  no 
matteh  what  his  failings  might  be,  I  was  bound  to 
make  any  sacrifice.  I  could  have  gone  on  the  stand 
and  pointed  my  fingah  at  the  thief,  but  of  what 
avail?  The  attorney  who  represented  me  in  those 
disgraceful  proceedings  advised  me  to  keep  my  seat, 
as  the  state  had  no  case  whateveh.     That  mutton 

[236] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

headed  old  bi'led  owl  that  was  supposed  to  be  a 
cou't,  bound  me  oveh,  but  I  was  soon  released,  and 
my  friend's  secret  was  not  in  jeopa'dy. 

'*I  have  now  expiated  the  penalty  of  the  No 'the 'n 
law  fo'  whipping  that  rascally  edeteh.  My  atto'ney 
also  pounded  him  to  a  jelly.  It  is  my  intention  to 
hawss-whip  Tipton  Posey,  foah  he  was  the  one  that 
sta'ted  the  talk  that  resulted  in  all  those  legal  pro- 
ceedings, and  during  the  thi'ty  days  that  I  am  in 
jail  foah  that,  it  is  my  intention  to  complete  my 
novel,  in  which,  as  I  told  you,  is  to  be  woven  my 
memoahs. 

''It  is  a  good  thing  fo'  Milt  Tuttle  that  he  had 
pneumonia,  foah  if  he  was  not  deceased  I  would  M 
him  full  of  holes  f o '  the  dishonah  he  brought  on  my 
friend  the  Majah,  and  then  I  would  leave  the  no'th 
f  0  'evah. 

''I  shall  nevah  blacken  the  memory  of  Majah 
Speed  by  using  his  name  with  the  story  of  the  blow- 
ing open  of  the  safe  in  my  book.  I  shall  use  an- 
otheh  name,  suh,  and  his  secret  shall  be  fo'evah  safe 
and  his  memory  will  be  unta'nished,  fo'  the  Majah 
nevah  stole  a  dollah.  He  can  stand  befoah  that 
greateh  cou't,  wheah  he  has  now  gone,  with  a  guilt- 
less and  stainless  soul." 

I  was  much  interested  in  the  Colonel's  narrative, 
and  after  talking  over  some  of  the  details,  we  re- 
tired for  the  night. 

I  had  quietly  enjoyed  the  naive  reasoning,  and  the 
chivalrous  devotion  of  the  Colonel  to  his  war  time 
friend.     There  was  pathos  in  the  tale  of  sacrifice, 

[237] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

and,  several  times  I  saw  moisture  in  the  old  sol- 
dier's eyes,  as  he  dilated  upon  the  cruelty  of  his 
position  in  the  affair  of  the  safe. 

His  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong"  were  refresh- 
ing, and  his  penchant  for  taking  the  law  into  his 
own  hands  was' evidently  going  to  get  him  into  more 
predicaments,  but  it  was  useless  to  argue  with  him. 
I  felt  sorry  about  Posey's  coming  castigation,  but 
as  Tip  was  abundantly  able  to  take  care  of  himself, 
I  concluded  not  to  worry  over  it. 

On  our  way  down  the  river  the  next  morning,  the 
Colonel  reverted  to  Major  Speed's  ill  starred  visit. 

''I  presume  that  you  would  think,  suh,  that  the 
interests  of  the  living  ah  paramount  to  those  of  the 
dead,  and  that  I  ought  to  tell  Majah  Speed's  story 
to  the  world.  His  memory  and  the  memory  of  that 
black  heahted  vahlet,  Milt  Tuttle,  would  suffeh,  and 
Tuttle's  ought  to  suffeh,  but  my  vindication  would 
be  complete.  Natu'ally  I  do  not  enjoy  being  looked 
at  askance,  and  I  sometimes  think  that  I  ought  to 
remove  the  stigma  that  now  rests  on  my  name." 

I  advised  him  to  let  matters  remain  as  they  were, 
inasmuch  as  he  oould  produce  no  proof  of  the  facts, 
and  little  would  be  gained  by  stirring  up  the  affair. 

**But  I  do  not  need  proof  of  facts,  they  would 
have  my  wo'd  of  honah,  suh!" 

I  explained  the  uncertain  value  of  a  **wo'd  of 
honah"  in  that  part  of  the  country.  I  refrained 
from  telling  him  that  I  thought  his  reputation  would 
not  be  much  improved  by  his  explanation,  for  he 
would  at  least  still  be  regarded  as  an  *' accessory 

j"238] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

after  the  fact"  because  of  Ms  admission  of  the  pro- 
tection to  Speed. 

**By  the  way,  Colonel,"  I  asked,  in  order  to 
change  the  subject,  *'what  did  you  finally  do  about 
Pud  Calkins?" 

''Pud  Calkins?  I  killed  him,  suh,  at  Vicksbu'g. 
That  cuss  disappeahed  entiahly  f 'om  from  memoahs 
while  I  was  in  jail,  and  I  assuah  you,  suh,  that  I 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  that  man  fell.  I  can 
now  go  ahead  with  my  combination  novel  and  me- 
moahs without  his  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  plot 
every  time  I  sit  down  to  write." 

It  occurred  to  me  that  the  casualties  among  those 
whom  the  fates  whirled  into  the  Colonel's  orbit  were 
becoming  rather  numerous. 

''I  am  vehy  sorry  to  tell  you  that  when  you  come 
down  heah  again,  you  will  probably  not  find  me," 
he  continued.  *'I  am  in  a  vehy  bad  predicament 
about  the  place  where  I  live.  As  you  know,  I  in- 
herited that  place  in  good  faith,  but  I  find  theah 
has  been  a  mortgage  on  it  that  I  didn't  know  any- 
thing about.  The  damned  editeh  of  that  scurrilous 
sheet  has  in  some  way  got  possession  of  that  mo't- 
gage.  I  am  unable  to  meet  its  obligations,  suh,  and 
I  must  move,  probably  this  winteh.  I  will  go  back 
to  Tennessee,  wheah  the  sun  shines  without  expense 
to  anybody,  and  wheah  a  gentleman  commands  re- 
spect even  though  he  is  unfo'tunate.  I  may  have 
to  walk  to  Tennessee,  but  I  will  make  a  sho't  call  at 
the  home  of  that  buzza'd  that  runs  that  newspapah, 
the  evening  that  I  go  away,  suh!" 

[239] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVEE 

The  Colonel  and  I  had  spent  happy  days  together, 
and  it  was  with  genuine  sadness  that  I  bade  him 
farewell  a  few  days  later.  He  was  a  mellow  old  soul, 
ruled  by  emotions,  and  not  by  reason,  drifting  aim- 
lessly on  a  sea  of  troubles,  totally  lost  to  every  con- 
sideration except  his  childish  vanity  and  the  mem- 
ories of  a  threadbare  chivalry.  He  easily  adjusted 
his  conscience  to  any  point  of  view  that  conformed 
to  his  interest,  and  suffered  keenly  from  sensitive- 
ness. Fate  had  thrown  him  into  an  environment 
with  which  he  could  not  mingle,  and  it  was  perhaps 
better  that  he  should  go.  When  all  else  failed,  there 
was  a  world  in  his  imaginative  brain  in  which  he 
could  live,  and  woe  to  those  who  have  not  these 
realms  of  fancy  when  the  shadows  come. 

When  I  visited  the  river  the  following  spring  I 
arranged  with  my  friend  Muskrat  Hyatt  to  pro- 
vide me  with  the  shelter  of  his  stranded  house  boat, 
and  to  act  as  "pusher"  and  general  utility  man  in 
my  expeditions  on  the  river  and  marsh. 

"Rat"  was  always  interesting,  and  I  anticipated 
a  delightful  two  weeks. 

One  of  the  first  trips  we  made  was  down  to  the 
Big  Marsh,  where  we  intended  to  camp  for  a  day 
or  two  on  a  little  island  that  was  scarcely  ever  vis- 
ited. It  was  thirty  or  forty  yards  long  and  half  as 
wide.  There  were  a  few  trees,  some  underbrush  and 
fallen  timber  on  the  islet.  The  place  was  deserted, 
except  for  a  blue  heron  that  winged  away  in  awk- 
ward flight  as  we  approached.  There  was  no  rea- 
son for  stopping  there,  but  a  wayward  fancy  and  a 

[240] 


THE  PREDICAMENTS  OF  COLONEL  PEETS 

desire  to  see  the  vast  marsh  in  its  different  moods. 

After  we  landed  I  asked  Rat  about  the  Colo- 
nel. 

''The  Colonel's  place  was  sold  under  a  mortgage 
last  fall,  an '  that  ol '  maid  that  swore  f er  'im  at  the 
trial  bid  it  in,  an'  its  in  her  name,  an'  now  the  Colo- 
nel's married  the  old  maid,  so  there  y'are. 

''That  ol'  feller  come  down  to  the  store  one 
momin'  an'  him  an'  Tip  had  a  fight,  an'  Tip  got 
licked.  The  Colonel  an'  Seth  Mussey  had  come  in 
a  buggy,  an'  they  was  goin'  on  from  Tip's  to  the 
county  seat  to  see  the  editor  of  the  paper.  It  was 
all  about  that  safe  blowin'  case,  an'  the  Colonel  ac- 
cused Tip  of  start 'n  all  the  talk  about  'im.  BiU 
Wirrick  an'  me  got  a  rig  an'  went  to  the  county  seat, 
fer  we  thought  the  Colonel  was  goin'  to  lick  the  edi- 
tor ag'in  an'  we  wanted  to  see  the  fun,  but  the  editor 
was  out  of  town.  The  Colonel  went  up  to  see  the  oP 
maid  an'  they  was  married  the  next  day.  I  guess 
she  had  some  money,  fer  they  took  the  cars  an*  said 
they  was  goin'  down  south. 

"The  Colonel  went  to  the  postmaster  an*  told  'im 
to  tell  the  editor,  w'en  'e  got  home,  that  if  'e  ever 
put  the  Colonel's  name  in  'is  paper  ag'in,  er  any 
name  that  sounded  like  his,  he'd  kill  'im,  an'  I  guess 
the  editor  b'lieved  it,  fer  'e  didn't  mention  no  thin' 
about  the  wedd'n  w'en  'e  got  back. 

' '  People  don 't  think  the  Colonel  blowed  open  that 
safe  after  all.  He  never  flashed  no  wealth  around 
afterwards,  and  the  way  he  beat  up  that  editor  fer 
sayin '  things  about  'im,  sort  a  squared  'im  up. ' ' 

[241] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

We  erected  our  little  tent,  and  Rat  busied  himself 
with  collecting  fuel.  He  attacked  a  long  hollow  log 
with  his  axe.  When  it  was  split  open  we  found  an 
old  gray  coat,  that  had  at  some  time  been  stuffed 
into  the  decayed  interior.  We  laid  the  coat  out  on 
the  ground  and  Rat  extracted  a  discolored  brass  key 
from  one  of  the  pockets,  and  a  wad  of  hairy  mate- 
rial, that  proved  to  be  a  set  of  false  chin  whiskers. 
In  a  damaged  manilla  envelope,  that  we  found  in  an 
inside  pocket,  was  a  certificate  of  the  honorable  dis- 
charge of  Jasper  Montgomery  Peets,  as  a  private 
in  the  Confederate  Army. 

The  mildewed  relics,  with  their  eloquent  though 
silent  story,  were  convincing. 

"I  s'spose  'e  thought  that  gray  coat  was  gitt'n 
too  pop'lar  with  possees,  an'  'e  concluded  to  shed 
it,"  remarked  Rat.  ''Say,  wasn't  that  feller  a 
peach  1 ' ' 

I  agreed  that  he  was. 

I  sat  for  a  long  time  on  the  sloping  bank  of  the 
islet,  and  mused  over  the  soul  mates  that,  like  mi- 
grating songsters,  had  winged  their  way  to  the 
balmy  southland  when  the  leaves  had  fallen,  and  the 
skies  had  become  gray.  I  thought  of  Anastasia's 
hungry  heart,  and  the  precarious  resting  place  it 
had  found. 

The  Colonel's  *'plot"  had  certainly  been  woven 
to  a  consistent  end;  the  "mystehious  veiled  lady" 
had  glided  into  its  web,  and  there  was  a  wedding 
on  the  last  page. 

[242] 


IX 

HIS  UNLUCKY  STAE 


IX 

HIS  UNLUCKY  STAE 

I  HAD  stopped  on  the  old  bridge  in  the  twilight 
to  look  upon  the  glories  of  a  dreamy  after- 
glow, and  the  gnarled  tree  forms  that  were 
etched  against  its  symphony  of  color  far  away  down 
the  river.  Just  above  the  bands  of  purple  and 
orange  the  evening  star  was  coming  out  of  a  sea  of 
turquoise,  and  its  radiance  was  creeping  into  the 
waters  below  the  trees.  I  heard  a  light  foot  fall 
behind  me. 

** Excuse  me,  mister,  have  you  got  a  match?'* 

I  turned  and  saw  an  odd  looking  little  man,  of 
perhaps  fifty,  with  a  squirrel  skin  cap  and  ginger 
colored  hair  and  beard,  who  laid  down  a  burden  con- 
tained in  a  gunny  sack,  and  approached  deferen- 
tially. 

As  I  produced  the  match  he  brought  forth  a  viru- 
lent looking  pipe  that  seemed  to  consist  mostly  of 
solidified  nicotine. 

**I  don't  seem  to  have  no  tobacco  neither,"  he 
continued  ruefully,  as  he  fumbled  in  his  pockets. 

I  gave  him  a  cigar,  a  portion  of  which  he  broke 
up  and  stuffed  into  his  pipe.  He  carefully  stowed 
the  remainder  in  his  vest  pocket  and  began  to  smoke 
composedly. 

[245] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

I  asked  him  if  he  lived  in  the  neighborhood. 

' 'No,  my  place  is  about  two  miles  from  here.  I  Ve 
ben  up  the  river  after  some  snake  root  that's  wanted 
right  away  by  the  man  I  do  business  with.  My 
name's  Erastus  Wattles  an'  I  get  all  kinds  of  herbs 
around  'ere  f  er  a  man  that  sells  'em  to  the  medicine 
makers  somewheres  down  east." 

We  sat  on  the  bridge  rail  and  talked  for  some 
time,  and  I  became  much  interested  in  my  new  ac- 
quaintance. He  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  his  man- 
ner seemed  rather  furtive.  He  told  me  much  of  the 
herbs  and  rare  plants  that  grew  in  the  river  country, 
and  of  his  attempts  to  cultivate  ginseng.  ' '  Certain 
influences"  had  repeatedly  caused  failures  of  his 
crop. 

"That's  a  fine  scene  out  yonder,"  he  remarked, 
and  the  splendid  glow  of  Jupiter  in  the  western  sky 
led  to  a  subject  that  I  found  had  enthralled  his  life, 
and  his  eyes  quickened  with  a  new  light  as  he  told 
me  his  story. 

When  he  was  a  young  man  he  had  studied  for  the 
stage,  but  had  made  a  failure  of  this,  and  had  gone 
to  work  on  an  Ohio  river  steamboat  as  a  clerk.  A 
very  old  man,  with  long  white  whiskers  and  green 
spectacles  came  on  board  at  Louisville  late  one 
night.  He  wanted  to  go  to  Cairo,  but  lacked  a  dol- 
lar of  the  amount  necessary  for  his  boat  fare.  He 
stated  that  he  was  a  professor  of  astrology,  and 
offered  to  cast  the  horoscope  of  anybody  on  the  boat 
who  would  supply  the  deficiency.  After  an  eloquent 
exposition  of  the  wonders  of  astrology  by  the  pro- 

[246] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

fessor,  Wattles  furnished  the  dollar  and  the  date 
and  hour  of  his  birth. 

Amid  the  jibes  of  the  other  employees  on  the  boat 
he  received  his  horoscope  just  before  the  landing 
was  made  at  Cairo.  The  aged  seer  departed  down 
the  gang  plank  and  disappeared. 

This  was  the  turning  point  in  the  life  of  Erastus 
Wattles. 

He  sought  a  secluded  place  on  the  boat  and 
studied  the  several  closely  written  pages  of  fools- 
cap, that  were  pinned  together  and  numbered,  and 
found  that  the  old  man  had  done  a  conscientious 
and  thorough  job. 

Wattles  extracted  a  large  worn  envelope  from  an 
inside  pocket.  It  contained  the  document,  which  he 
said  he  always  carried  with  him,  and  he  asked  me 
to  read  it. 

On  the  first  page  was  the  circle  of  the  horoscope, 
divided  into  its  twelve  ** houses,"  and  above  it  was 
the  ''nativity"  with  the  ''sidereal  variation"  noted. 

In  the  ' '  delineation, ' '  which  occupied  the  remain- 
ing pages,  were  black  clouds  of  misfortune.  If  Wat- 
tles had  selected  his  hour  of  birth  he  could  not  have 
found  one  in  the  whole  gamut  of  heavenly  chords 
when  his  entrance  into  the  world  would  have  been 
more  inopportune. 

Mars  was  ' '  on  the  ascendant  in  Taurus ' '  and  was 
his  "significator"  and  "ruling  planet."  Its  posi- 
tion in  relation  to  the  other  "malefics" — Saturn, 
Uranus  and  Neptune — all  of  which  were  above  the 
horizon,  was  most  disastrous.     Two  malefics  were 

[247] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

"poised  upon  the  cusp  of  the  House  of  Money,"  in- 
dicating that  Wattles  "would  go  broke,  and  remain 
so  during  life."  The  moon  was  also  in  a  hostile 
square  at  the  time. 

The  hoary  headed  astrologer  had  ' '  dived  into  the 
Abyss  of  Futurity,  and  through  a  glass  darkly" 
he  had  seen  "a  pale  light."  It  illumined  a  life  of 
hopeless  sorrow  and  futility.  Ever  and  anon  the 
blood  red  eye  of  Mars  gleamed  with  a  baleful  glow 
upon  the  destiny  under  consideration.  When  Mars 
was  off  duty  Saturn  took  up  the  malign  rod,  which 
was  yielded  to  Uranus  and  Neptune  when  he  passed 
temporarily  into  other  fields  of  astral  activity  to 
indicate  misfortunes  of  other  people. 

Periods  of  deep  perplexities  were  apparent — 
when  Wattles  must  not  engage  in  new  ventures,  or 
talk  with  men  over  sixty,  or  with  women  under  forty 
— when  he  must  not  deal  with  farmers,  or  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  people  with  red  hair  or  bushy  eye- 
brows. He  was  not  to  ask  favors,  travel,  trade, 
write  letters  or  marry,  when  the  moon  was  in  its 
first  or  last  quarter,  or  have  anything  to  do  with 
surgeons  or  tradesmen  when  the  moon  was  in  con- 
junction with  Saturn.  Flying  pains  in  limbs  and 
joints,  warts,  boils,  and  accidents  to  the  head  were 
indicated  at  these  periods.  New  enterprises  might 
be  undertaken  when  the  sun  was  in  Leo,  but  not  if 
Neptune  was  stationary  in  Aries  at  that  time,  or  if 
Venus  was  retrogressing  in  Cancer  or  Capricorn. 

When  Jupiter  and  Venus  were  together  in  Libra 
there  would  be  particularly  distressing  periods  for 

[248] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

Wattles.  When  Jupiter  passed  into  Sagittarius 
there  might  be  temptation  to  make  merry,  but  in  the 
midst  of  mirth  he  must  remember  death,  for  ahnost 
fatal  accidents,  and  possibly  severe  illness  were  in- 
dicated for  these  times,  which  were  pregnant  with 
calamity. 

A  certain  retrogression  of  Uranus  in  Leo  in  the 
fifth  year  after  the  casting,  with  the  sun  hyleg.  Mars 
in  Aquarius,  and  the  moon  in  Capricorn,  indicated 
a  liver  complaint,  with  pains  in  the  back  and  head, 
an  almost  fatal  accident  from  an  explosive  com- 
pound, and  interference  in  his  affairs  by  a  fat  per- 
son— probably  a  female  with  a  retreating  chin, 
whose  significator  would  be  the  malefic  Neptune.  A 
minor  sub-related  transit  ''might  change  this  fe- 
male to  a  dark  haired  woman  with  pointed  features,' 
who  would  spread  strange  reports  with  a  bitter 
tongue,  but  in  an  unknown  language.'' 

No  illnesses,  accidents  or  women  materialized  in 
that  year,  and  Wattles  thought  they  were  all  side 
tracked  by  a  retrogression  of  Mercury  in  Virgo. 

The  influence  of  an  evil  minded  woman,  whose 
ruling  planet  was  Saturn,  was  indicated  during  the 
eleventh  year.  Long  arms,  freckles  and  a  high  in- 
step were  suggested,  as  Antares  would  be  in  Gemini 
when  she  came  into  the  sketch.  Wattles  had  as- 
sumed that  this  peril  had  been  fended  off  by  an  un- 
suspected transit.  He  had  stayed  in  the  woods  as 
much  as  possible  while  Antares  was  in  Gemini,  and 
had  spoken  to  no  female  during  the  eleventh  year, 
but  afterwards  learned  that  the  postmistress,  who 

[249] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

answered  the  description,  had  told  an  inquirer  that 
no  such  man  as  "Wattles  lived  in  that  part  of  the 
country.  Somebody  had  tried  to  find  him  with  a 
view  of  making  a  large  herb  contract,  which  had 
been  thereby  lost,  so,  after  all,  the  indication  was 
correct. 

Under  the  heads  of  *' Heredity,'*  '* Mental  Facul- 
ties," '* Moral  Qualities,"  and  "Disposition,"  it  ap- 
peared that  Wattles  possessed  most  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  a  goat.  The  ''cause"  was  ''obscure" 
but  assiduous  effort  might  gradually  overcome  some 
of  the  tendencies. 

In  the  twenty-second  year,  which  was  yet  to  come, 
the  two  malefics,  Saturn  and  Neptune,  would  retro- 
grade in  Taurus.  Mars  and  the  Moon  would  be  in 
Aquarius,  and  this  would  probably  mean  that  Wat- 
tles would  have  an  affliction  of  the  stomach,  and 
would  lose  one  or  both  legs  if  he  waded  in  unclear 
waters. 

There  were  so  many  things  to  look  out  for  that  he 
was  dazed  with  their  complexity.  He  was  horrified 
by  the  "variations"  and  "transits  of  evil  omen" 
that  were  possible  in  unexpected  quarters  when  the 
rest  of  the  sky  was  apparently  free.  Temporizing 
signs  and  harmless  transits  were  rare.  Malign  con- 
junctions and  oppositions  were  leading  features  of 
every  month  in  the  calendar. 

At  one  of  the  periods,  when  the  moon  and  Ceres 
would  be  in  opposition,  and  Venus  "in  trine"  with 
Neptune,  Wattles  would  die  of  an  unindicated  dis- 
order. 

[250} 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

He  had  certainly  got  his  dollar's  worth.  With 
Mars  careering  continually  through  the  Zodiac,  and 
all  the  other  malefics  falling  into  conjunction  and 
opposition  at  the  most  fateful  times,  he  saw  little 
prospect  of  escaping'an  astrological  coil  that  reeked 
with  woe.  For  him  there  was  no  balm  in  Gilead,  or 
anywhere  else  in  the  universe.  Like  many  others 
he  let  the  blessings  of  existence  take  care  of  them- 
selves, and  was  concerned  solely  with  its  ills.  Ap- 
parently he  was  hopelessly  enmeshed,  but  instinct- 
ively he  struggled  on. 

^  The  far  seeing  sage  delineated  a  collateral  varia- 
tion indicating  that  the  subject  of  the  horoscope 
would,  within  a  year  after  its  casting,  become  a  dis- 
ciple, and  possibly  a  practitioner,  of  a  certain  an- 
cient science  that  had  to  do  with  the  heavenly  bodies, 
but  the  indication  was  not  quite  clear  as  to  its  name. 
Impelled  by  this  covert  and  ingeniously  mystic 
suggestion,  Wattles  had  procured  all  the  literature 
he  could  find  on  the  subject  of  astrology,  and  had 
studied  it  carefully.    He  hoped  that  he  might  find 
error  in  his  horoscope,  but  the  more  he  studied  the 
more  he  believed.    He  had  been  touched  with  a  hyp- 
notic wand  and  had  drifted  into  the  toils  of  a  re- 
morseless power. 

The  opinion  expressed  by  one  of  his  friends  on 
the  steamboat  that  ''the  old  party  who  cast  the 
horoscope  was  probably  drunk"  had  no  weight  with 
Wattles.  There  were  too  many  confirmations  of 
planet  positions  and  significations  in  the  astrologi- 

[251] 


THE  VANISHING  RIV:ER 

cal  almanacs  and  related  literature  that  lie  had  suc- 
ceeded in  accumulating. 

There  was  a  postscript  at  the  end  of  the  delinea- 
tion. Somewhere  in  the  realms  of  infinite  space  the 
white  bearded  prophet  felt  the  presence  of  a  strange 
and  malign  star,  that,  for  lack  of  data  at  hand,  could 
not  be  named.  Its  unknown  orbit  dimly  intersected 
the  fate  lines  of  Wattles.  At  some  crisis  in  his  af- 
fairs it  would  unexpectedly  become  manifest  and 
would  have  a  woeful  significance. 

Wattles  pondered  long  upon  the  missing  star  in 
his  horoscope,  and  had  vainly  sought  it  in  his 
studies.  There  appeared  to  be  nothing  in  his  books 
that  could  lead  to  a  solution,  and  the  unknown 
malefic  besieged  his  soul  with  a  haunting  fear. 

"I  got  to  keep  track  of  all  them  heavenly  bodies, 
and  if  that  damn  star  ever  shows  up  I  must  get  a 
line  on  it,"  he  declared,  as  he  folded  up  his  horo- 
scope. *  *  I've  got  all  the  almanacs,  and  I  know  where 
ev'rything  is  all  the  time.  I've  studied  astrology 
'till  I've  ben  black  in  the  face,  and  I'm  an  expert 
caster.  I'm  goin'  to  cast  horoscopes  right  along 
now.  There's  my  significator  comin'  up,  an'  its  in 
Aquarius  now,"  he  remarked,  and  he  pointed  to 
Mars  that  had  just  scaled  the  tree  tops  in  the  east. 

He  offered,  ''for  the  small  sum  of  fifty  cents,"  to 
sell  me  an  unlabelled  bottle  of  brown  liquid,  which 
he  said  was  ''an  excellent  tonic"  that  he  made  him- 
self. He  called  it  "Wahoo  Bitters."  I  made  the 
purchase  and  placed  the  precious  compound  on  the 
bridge  rail. 

[252] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

He  took  a  small  book  from  his  pocket,  which  he 
consulted  for  a  moment,  and  then  invited  me  to 
visit  him  if  I  would  come  at  a  particular  hour  on 
Thursday  of  the  following  week.  This  I  promised 
to  do  if  possible.  He  told  me  how  to  find  his  house, 
gratefully  accepted  another  cigar,  and  bade  me  good 
night.  He  then  softly  mingled  with  the  shadows  of 
the  woods  with  his  bag  of  roots.  I  pushed  the 
Wahoo  Bitters  gently  over  into  the  river  and  con- 
tinued my  walk. 

He  was  a  strange  and  pathetic  figure.  Naturally 
superstitious,  he  had  become  imbued  with  illusions, 
that  for  ages  have  lured  the  imaginations  of  those 
who  have  reached  blindly  into  the  unknowable  and 
found  only  the  Ego — the  *' ruling  star"  in  all  horo- 
scopes. Verily,  to  man,  the  luminary  of  the  great- 
est magnitude  in  the  universe  is  himself.  Not  con- 
tent to  be  silly  over  little  things,  he  must  needs 
prowl  among  the  constellations  and  there  spin  the 
web  of  his  puny  personal  affairs,  as  in  theology  he 
assumes  the  particular  concern  of  the  Almighty  with 
his  daily  doings. 

Ancient  as  astrology  is,  it  is  not  as  old  as  con- 
ceit. 

I  was  curious  to  know  more  of  Wattles.  At  heart 
I  scoffed,  but  concluded  to  keep  my  engagement  and 
ask  him  to  cast  my  horoscope.  On  the  appointed 
day  I  made  the  little  journey.  The  road  led 
through  the  woods  for  a  mile  or  so  to  a  big  oak 
tree  that  Wattles  had  described.  Here  a  narrow 
path  left  it  and  followed  the  course  of  the  river  to 

[253] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

a  long  bayou.  Beyond  the  end  of  the  bayou  I  found 
some  high  ground  on  which  perhaps  an  acre  had 
been  cleared.  Near  the  farther  edge  of  the  clear- 
ing was  an  unpainted  single  story  house  with  low 
eaves.  There  was  some  queer  looking  frame  work, 
and  a  small  platform  on  the  roof. 

As  I  approached  the  door  I  was  confronted  with 
cabalistic  characters — painted  in  black  on  the  wood 
work.  The  signs  of  the  Zodiac  appeared  around  the 
rim  of  a  roughly  drawn  circle.  On  a  blue  back- 
ground at  the  top  of  the  door  were  four  stars  and 
a  crescent  moon  in  yellow.  I  assumed  that  the  stars 
represented  the  malefics  in  Wattles'  horoscope. 

In  response  to  my  knock,  he  opened  the  door. 

**Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!"  he  exclaimed.  '*I 
didn't  think  you'd  come.  I  thought  mebbe  you 
might  size  me  up  for  a  queer  bird  after  all  that  talk 
we  had  on  the  bridge.  Set  down  an'  make  yourself 
comfortable. ' ' 

He  flung  a  villainous  looking  maltese  tom  cat,  that 
he  addressed  as  ''Scorpio,"  out  of  a  crippled  rock- 
ing chair,  and  I  occupied  the  vacated  space. 

As  Scorpio  fled  through  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of 
the  door,  that  apparently  had  been  cut  for  his  ben- 
efit, I  noticed  that  he  was  much  scarred.  One  ear 
was  gone,  his  left  eyelid  was  missing,  there  were 
bare  places  on  him  where  the  fur  had  been  removed, 
evidently  with  violence,  and  his  tail  was  not  com- 
plete. These  things  imparted  a  sinister  aspect,  and 
I  did  not  like  him.  He  looked  like  a  thoroughly  bad 
oat,  and  was  probably  a  malefic. 

[254] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

It  would  seem  fit  that  a  cat  found  amid  such  un- 
canny surroundings  should  be  black  instead  of  mal- 
tese,  but  as  this  is  a  veracious  chronicle  it  is 
necessary  to  adhere  to  facts. 

We  spent  some  time  in  desultory  conversation  be- 
fore I  mentioned  the  ostensible  object  of  my  visit. 

^'Now,"  said  Wattles,  ''before  I  do  anything 
about  your  horoscope,  I  want  to  show  some  I've  ben 
casting, ' '  and  he  began  pulling  over  some  papers  on 
his  shelves. 

While  he  was  doing  this  I  looked  around  the 
strange  room. 

A  row  of  bottles  on  one  of  the  shelves  contained 
various  small  reptiles  with  filmy  orbs  that  peered 
out  through  alcohol.  From  the  end  of  the  shelf  a 
stuffed  badger  stared  fixedly  and  disdainfully,  with 
dull  glass  eyes,  at  a  moth  eaten  coon  that  returned 
the  gaze  from  a  pedestal  in  a  darkened  corner.  A 
dismal  and  tattered  owl  occupied  a  perch  above  the 
coon.  One  of  his  glass  eyes  had  dropped  out,  but 
with  the  other  he  regarded  the  offending  badger 
sadly. 

A  dried  snake  skin,  with  several  dangling  rattles, 
was  tacked  on  the  wall  back  of  the  stove,  with  a  few 
Indian  relics — bows,  arrows,  and  a  spear  head — that 
were  arranged  on  each  side  of  it.  Some  butterflies 
with  broken  wings,  and  beetles,  impaled  on  pins, 
were  scattered  through  the  spaces  around  the  relics. 
A  number  of  colored  botanical  prints  and  astronom- 
ical charts  were  pinned  on  the  walls,  and  there  were 

[255] 


THE  VANISHINa  EIVER 

cobwebs  in  the  upper  comers  that  appeared  to  be 
inhabited. 

Some  bunches  of  withered  herbs  and  a  broken 
violin  hung  above  the  window.  On  a  table  near  it 
was  a  violet  tinted  globe  of  solid  glass,  about  six 
inches  in  diameter.  It  was  mounted  on  a  block  of 
wood.  Wattles  afterwards  explained  that  this  was 
a  ''magic  crystal  of  marvellous  power,"  and  that  it 
"pictured  prophetic  visions  under  certain  in- 
fluences." 

The  air  in  the  room  had  a  pungent  musty  odor, 
as  of  dried  roots  and  plants,  and  I  thought  that  a 
pile  of  small  sacks  back  of  the  stove  might  contain 
something  of  the  kind. 

Wattles  finally  produced  copies  of  the  horoscopes 
and  I  was  pleased  to  find  among  them  those  of  my 
friends  Tipton  Posey,  Bill  Stiles  and  ''Eat"  Hyatt. 

As  Wattles  traded  at  Posey's  store,  his  horoscope 
had  probably  been  exchanged  for  merchandise. 

Posey's  nativity  was  exceptionally  fortuitious. 
Jupiter  was  his  significator,  and  the  other  benefics 
were  advantageously  placed  at  the  hour  of  his  birth, 
In  the  delineation  it  appeared  that  there  were  few 
blessings  that  would  escape  him  as  long  as  he  was 
kind  to  friends  and  not  too  fond  of  money.  His  his- 
torical parallel  was  a  certain  ancient  Persian  king, 
who,  after  a  long  and  happy  reign,  was  suffocated 
in  a  shower  of  gold. 

He  would  be  fortunate  in  his  dealings  with  all 
those  who  had  to  do  with  medicines  of  any  kind.  It 
would  always  be  safe  for  him  to  extend  credit  when 

[256] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

any  of  the  benefics  were  above  the  horizon,  and  at 
any  time  that  the  sun  was  in  Aquarius,  Scorpio,  or 
Leo.    It  would  be  a  bad  time  for  Posey  to  ask  for 
money,  or  to  try  to  collect  debts  of  any  kind,  when 
Mercury  was  in  opposition  to  Mars,  when  the  moon 
was  full,  or  partially  so,  when  the  sun  was  in  Virgo, 
Taurus,   or  Aries,   or  when   two   or  more   of  the 
malefics   were   above   the   horizon.     Persons   born 
under  Posey's  planet  were  tactful  and  magnetic, 
had  much  power   over  the  minds  of  others   and 
were  model  housewives.    They  were  proud,  dignified 
and   conservative,   intolerant   of  wrong,   and   well 
adapted  to  fill  representative  positions.     Usually 
they  had  piercing  intellects  and  triumphed  in  all 
things.    They  were  at  times  inclined  to  avarice,  and 
to  be  suspicious  of  others,  and  this  must  be  strongly 
guarded    against.      There    was    a    dark    warning 
against  the  acquirement  of  too  much  wealth. 

In  his  magic  crystal  Wattles  dimly  saw  a  figure 
that  looked  like  Posey,  but  the  head  was  that  of 
some  kind  of  a  beast.  It  sat  upon  a  rock  with  a  big 
bag  of  gold,  with  which  it  had  climbed  a  weary  hill. 
Beyond  was  a  shady  bower  among  the  trees,  under 
which  dwelt  happy  hours.  The  way  was  blocked  by 
two  black  rams,  that  signified  opposition.  The  fig- 
ure could  not  go  on,  for  its  fair  form  had  been 
changed  by  the  winning  of  the  gold. 

Far  beyond  the  bower  was  a  wonderful  city  with 
brilliant  domes.  Its  towers  sparkled  with  ruby  and 
pearl,  and  unto  this  bright  city  the  figure  could  never 

[257] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVEE 

go,  because  of  its  brutisli  aspect  that  betokened 
greed. 

Bill  Stiles 's  ruling  star  was  Saturn,  and  Ms  nativ- 
ity was  questionable.  The  planet's  position,  with 
regard  to  the  moon  and  Mars  in  Leo,  indicated  a 
Master  Spirit,  subject  to  many  variations  of  for- 
tune. The  tendencies  were  modified  by  the  benign 
presence  of  Arcturus  and  Venus  in  Aries  at  his 
natal  hour.  Two  famous  Koman  emperors  had 
almost  identical  nativities.  Bill  was  studious, 
veracious,  instinctively  noble  and  imperious.  He 
had  an  iron  will,  abhorred  deception  in  others,  and 
was  stern  and  able.  He  would  be  warlike  and  re- 
fractory when  Mars  was  in  the  square  of  Saturn. 
"When  his  significator  was  in  Aquarius,  he  would 
be  liable  to  serious  errors  of  judgment,  and  he  would 
have  great  potency  for  evil.  He  would  succeed  in 
undertakings  that  would  bring  fame.  Certain  lit- 
erary work,  upon  which  he  was  now  engaged,  was 
likened  to  that  of  the  ancient  Jewish  historian 
Josephus.  At  some  period  when  Mercury  and 
Venus  were  in  opposition,  and  the  moon  was  in 
Capricorn,  Bill  would  fall  to  rise  no  more. 

Venus  was  ascendant  in  Virgo  when  Rat  Hyatt 
came  into  the  world,  but  the  watchful  eye  of  Saturn 
in  Leo  was  upon  him.  The  benign  love  star  was 
not  allowed  to  monopolize  his  fortunes.  There'were 
three  malefics  in  strategic  sectors  that  betokened 
danger.  The  moon  was  coyly  ensconced  with  respect 
to  Venus,  and  thus  neutralized  the  dire  influences  to 
some  extent.    Counterparts  of  Eat's  characteristics, 

[258] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

indicated  by  planetic  conditions  at  his  birth,  were 
found  in  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  and  Marcus 
Aurelius.  They  evidenced  one  ''skilful  in  com- 
mand, ambitious,  cautious,  strenuous,  obstinate, 
active,  yet  indolent  at  times,  versatile,  inventive, 
acute  and  self  confident,  busy  in  all  things,  terrible 
in  anger,  intrepid  and  invincible  when  roused,  loyal 
to  friends  and  modest,  yet  fond  of  applause." 

There  were  many  dark  spots  in  the  picture, 
aspected  by  the  moon,  that  were  fraught  with  peril, 
and  Hyatt  must  beware  of  the  angry  Saturn.  Mars 
was  also  an  interfering  factor.  Rat  must  never  go 
below  a  certain  bend  in  the  river  during  a  waning 
moon,  or  in  the  summer  time,  and  must  shun  women 
with  protruding  teeth.  (An  obvious  allusion  to 
Hyatt's  friend,  Malindy  Taylor,  whom  Wattles 
admired  from  afar.) 

In  a  vision  in  Wattles 's  crystal,  while  Rat  Hyatt 
was  under  consideration,  there  appeared  a  tall  skel- 
eton, with  a  helmet  and  a  fiery  spear.  It  wore  a 
breast  plate  on  which  was  inscribed  "Sent  from 
God."  The  bony  arms  waved  the  spear,  and  the 
crystal  was  suffused  with-  red. 

The  interpretation  was  that  Hyatt  would  be 
wanted  in  the  near  future. 

In  another  crystal  vision,  a  slowly  moving  figure, 
with  a  sorrow  stricken  mien,  and  a  halo  above  its 
head,  approached  a  water's  edge  and  contemplated 
men  who  drew  a  net.  When  the  meshes  came  upon 
the  sand  the  figure  stooped,  took  from  them  one  of 

[259] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

the  fish,  and  cast  it  back  into  the  sea.    A  darkness 
then  came  upon  the  face  of  the  waters. 

Wattles  divined  that  this  signified  something  in 
connection  with  Hyatt,  and  that  'Hhe  fish  was  no 
good." 

As  I  finished  reading  the  horoscopes  the  tom  cat 
Scorpio  returned  through  the  hole  in  the  door  and 
crawled  under  the  stove  with  a  chipmunk  he  had 
caught  in  the  woods. 

' '  That  crystal  was  at  one  time  in  India, ' '  explained 
Wattles,  as  he  placed  the  horoscopes  between  the 
leaves  of  a  big  book.  ''The  Buddhists  used  it,  and 
it  was  stolen  by  a  desecrater  of  a  temple,  who  fled 
to  Italy.  There  it  was  used  by  a  great  astrologer 
and  magician  for  over  fifty  years.  From  Italy  it 
went  to  England  and  into  the  possession  of  the  world 
renowned  Zadkiel.  After  that  it  went  to  New  York 
by  inheritance.  I  bought  it  from  a  man  in  Cincin- 
nati for  two  dollars.  He  did  not  know  what  it  was, 
but  I  d«id,  for  it  was  fully  described  in  some  books 
I  have.  I  believe  it  to  be  the  celebrated  Lady 
Blessington  crystal  that  was  exhibited  in  London 
before  all  the  nobility  in  1850.  I  will  show  you 
how  it  works." 

He  placed  the  crystal  on  the  window  ledge,  and 
into  a  little  pan,  between  it  and  the  light,  he  paured 
some  gray  powder  fram  a  wide  mouthed  bottle.  He 
lighted  the  powder  and  a  pale  yellow  smoke 
ascended.  He  then  covered  his  head  and  half  of  the 
globe  with  a  black  cloth,  as  one  would  do  in  focussing 
a  camera.  In  this  way  all  light  was  excluded  except 

[260] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

that  which  passed  through  the  smoke  and  crystal 
into  the  darkened  space  under  the  cloth. 

"I  am  not  expecting  to  see  any  visions  now,"  he 
continued,  "but  for  all  that  there  may  be  one- there." 
He  was  silent  for  some  time  and  then  asked  me  to 
look. 

I  carefully  adjusted  the  cloth  and  gazed  upon  the 
luminous  orb.  Owing  to  the  wreaths  of  smoke  on 
the  other  side  of  the  globe,  there-  were  wierd  filmy 
changes'in  the  field  of  light.  A  dark  indistinct  form 
seemed  to  wander  in  the  dim  depths  of  the  crystal. 
The  movement  ceased  near  the  center. 

I  told  Wattles,  what  had  happened,  and  asked  him 
to  interpret  it,  but  he  made  no  reply.  I  withdrew 
the  cloth  and  found  that  the  mysterious  apparition 
had  been  produced  by  the  blurred  magnification  of 
the  silhouette  of  a  blue  bottle  fly  that  was  crawling 
about  on  the  light  side  of  the  crystal. 

Wattles  said,  in  a  regretful,  kindly  tone,  that  the 
influences  were  not  quite  right  for  the  visions.  He 
had  found  by  the  test  that  I  was  a  skeptic,  and, 
when  looked  into  by  unbelievers,  the  crystal  re- 
mained clouded  and  never  *' visualized."  I  accepted 
the  explanation  humbly. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I  want  you  to  see  my  observa- 
tory." He  took  a  long  marine  spy  glass  from  be- 
hind the  books  on  the  shelf  and  we  ascended  a 
rickety  ladder  to  a  trap  door  in  the  roof,  by  means 
o-f  which  we  reached  an  enclosed  platform  over  the 
house. 

"By  get'n'  up  here  I  command  a  better  horizon 

[261] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

than  I  would  from  the  ground,"  he  explained,  as 
he  adjusted  the  spy  glass  into  the  top  of  some  re- 
volving frame  work.  From  the  low  seat  near  it  he 
could  inspect  the  heavens  to  his  heart's  content. 
Through  the  glass  I  scrutinized  a  flock  of  turbulent 
crows  around  some  tree  tops  beyond  the  river  a  mile 
or  .so  away,  and  it  appeared  to  be  an  excellent  in- 
strument of  its  kind. 

In. this  humble  eyrie  I  could  fancy  Wattles  com- 
muning with  the  stars  on  quiet  nights,  listening  to 
their  spiritual  voices,  gazing  with  apprehension  upon 
the  hovering  malefics,  and  searching  the  immutable 
heavens  for  the  missing  orb  of  his  horoscope. 

Like  the  Chaldeans  of  old  upon  their  lonely  watch 
towers  in  the  dawn  of  history,  he  contemplated  the 
bejewelled  scroll,  and  beheld  the  endless  processions 
of  mighty  planets  that,  in  his  belief,  cycled  through 
infinity  to  fashion  minute  destinies  on  the  distant 
speck  of  earth.  The  flying  shuttling  spheres  were 
weaving  the  mottled  fabrics  of  the  fates  of  men,  and, 
among  them  was  the  frail  and  ill-starred  web  of 
Wattles.  After  all,  was  he  of  less  consideration 
than  all  the  others,  who  assume  the*  creation  of  the 
universe  to  be  a  vast  design  for  the  final  glory  of 
humanity? 

We  descended  from  the  platform,  and  Wattles 
conducted  me  to  his  *4abertory,"  a  small  room  at 
the  rear  of  the  house. 

Several  large  kettles  were  scattered  about,  and, 
on  a  low  platform  was  a  large  alembic.  A  big  stove 
stood  near  the  chimney.    Stacked  along  the  shelves 

[262] 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

were  baskets  of  dried  leaves,  flowers  and  berries, 
piles  of  various  herbs,  bundles  of  wild  cherry  and 
wahoo  bark,  and  bags  of  flag  and  snake  roots. 

The  torn  cat  Scorpio  had  followed  us  and  he 
sniffed  suspiciously  around  a  barrel  in  the  corner, 
in  which  there  were  probably  mouse  nests. 

*'This  is  where  I  make  them  celebrated  Wahoo 
Bitters,"  Wattles  announced  proudly,  as  he  pointed 
to  a  row  of  filled  bottles  on  one  of  the  shelves.  '*I 
got  the  formula  from  Waukena,  the  old  Injun  squaw 
that  used  to  live  up  in  Whippoorwill  Bayou.  All  the 
Injuns  used  to  take  it  when  they  got  sick,  but  they 
didn't  'ave  such  improved  ways  of  makin'  it  as  I 
got.  They  used  to  drop  red  hot  stones  in  with  the 
things  its  made  of,  and  I  think  that  killed  part  o* 
the  edge  the  bitters  ought  to  have  on  'em  when 
they're  done.  They  didn't  know  how  to  combine 
certain  chemical  diffusions  and  decant  'em  off  the 
way  I  do.  I  sell  a  good  deal  o'  them  bitters  around 
'ere.  Posey  keeps  'em  at  the  store  an'  there's  lots 
of  other  places  where  they  have  'em  in  the  stores. 

We  left  the  '^labertory"  and  I  heard  the  sound  of 
a  swift  scrape  along  the  floor.  I  inferred  that  Scor- 
pio had  made  a  seizure. 

Wattles  kindly  asked  me  to  have  some  lunch  with 
him.  It  was  more  of  a  *'feed"  than  a  repast.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  I  finished  my  rather  prolonged  but 
interesting  visit. 

Wattles  wanted  to  show  me  his  garden,  and  we 
walked  out  into  the  clearing  along  the  edge  of  a 
deep  ravine  back  of  the  house.    Some  of  the  vege- 

[263] 


THE  VANISHING  RIVER 

tables    in    tlie    garden    had    struggled    hard    for 
existence. 

"Look  at  them  beets!"  he  exclaimed  ruefully. 
''I  planted  'em  under  exactly  proper  lunar  aspects 
and  I  ain't  got  a  damn  beet  in  the  patch." 

He  promised  to  leave  my  horoscope  at  Posey's 
store  in  about  a  week.  I  thanked  him  for  his  many 
courtesies  and  departed.  I  noticed  that  he  did  not 
invite  me  to  make  him  another  visit. 

It  happened  that  nearly  six  months  elapsed  before 
I  was  in  that  part  of  the  country  again.  I  inquired 
at  the  store  for  my  horoscope  and  found  that  it  had 
been  left  according  to  agreement.  It  was  a  thrilling 
document  and  I  found  much  amusement  in  it. 

I  had  a  chat  with  Posey  out  on  the  platform,  and 
he  told  me  that  my  astrological  friend  had  got  into 
all  kinds  of  trouble. 

''That  feller  was  a  pippin,"  he  declared;  **the 
slickest  that  ever  lived  around  'ere,  an'  we've  had 
some  pretty  good  ones.  He  was  foregathered  by  the 
officers  for  makin'  queer  half  dollars  up  to  his  place 
an'  the  devil  was  to  pay.  The  coins  was  finished  up 
so  fine  you  c'd  hardly  tell  'em.  He  shipped  'em  out 
with  the  herbs  'e  sent  to  some  feller  away  off,  an' 
it  was  a  long  time  before  they  traced  'em.  He  had 
a  little  furnace  in  the  cellar  under  'is  house  that  'e 
went  down  into  through  a  trap  door  in  the  floor,  an' 
they  was  a  tunnel  from  the  cellar  out  to  the  side 
of  the  ravine  back  of  the  house  that  'e'd  dug  to  git 
away  by  if  anybody  ever  come  after  'im. 

''That  Wahoo  Bitters  fluid  'e  made  was  hot  stuff. 

[264] 


The    Sheriff 


HIS  UNLUCKY  STAR 

It  was  about  three-quarters  bad  alcohol.  You  c'd 
take  three  er  four  fair  sized  doses  an'  you'd  want 
to  go  out  an'  throw  stones  at  yer  folks.  Ev'rybody 
was  buyin'  it.  Old  Swan  Peterson  took  it  reg'lar 
an'  half  the  time  'e  didn't  know  'is  name.  I  used 
to  leave  Bill  in  charge  o'  the  store  when  I  went  off 
duck  shoot 'n.  He  slep'  upstairs,  an'  would  always 
'ave  a  spell  o'  sickness  while  I  was  away,  an'  e'd 
come  down  in  the  night  an '  drink  up  the  stock.  He  'd 
git  a  skinfull  an'  sometimes  he'd  stay  corned  three 
days.  They  wasn't  no  money  in  that  an'  I  had  to 
quit  carryin'  it.  All  the  owls  in  the  woods  up  and 
down  the  river  hoot '  Wahoo-Wahoo'  an'  that  always 
advertised  'is  dope,  but  I  guess  'e  made  more  money 
in  'is  little  furnace  than  'e  did  out  o'  Wahoo. 

''Them  dizzy  dreams  'e  wrote  about  us  fellers 
made  me  think  'e  was  looney  fer  awhile,  an'  that  the 
moon  'ad  addled  'im  when  'e  was  roostin'  up  among 
them  sticks  on  top  of  'is  coop  at  night,  but  you  bet 
there  wasn't  nuth'n  looney  about  'im.  He  had  a 
wise  head,  all  except  git'n  away  with  it." 

Posey's  story  was  rather  lengthy  and  involved, 
but  it  seemed  that  a  quiet  and  thorough  investigation 
of  the  affairs  of  the  versatile  Wattles  had  been  made 
by  a  government  detective.  His  place  was  visited 
one  day  during  his  absence.  The  small  furnace, 
some  moulds,  and  other  counterfeiter's  parapher- 
nalia were  discovered,  and  several  hundred  excellent 
imitations  of  Uncle  Sam's  legal  tender  and  Pullman 
porter  tips  were  found  hidden  under  rubbish  that 
concealed  the  entrance  to  the  underground  exit  from 

[265] 


THE  VANISHING  EIVER 

the  cellar.  The  opening  in  the  ravine  was  well  pro- 
tected from  observation  by  vegetation. 

Two  secret  service  men,  accompanied  by  the 
sheriff,  had  come  quietly  up  the  river  in  a  boat  late 
one  night.  One  of  the  party  stole  up  the  path  along 
the  bayou,  one  approached  through  the  ravine,  and 
the  other  remained  with  the  boat  at  the  entrance 
to  the  bayou. 

Wattles  heard  suspicious  sounds  and  his  lights 
went  out.  He  crept  noiselessly  through  his  secret 
exit,  and  at  its  end  he  saw  the  missing  evil  star 
of  his  horoscope.  It  was  on  the  vest  of  the  officer 
who  awaited  him  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel. 

With  the  three  malefics  who  came  in  the  boat,  poor 
Wattles,  ever  a  child  of  misfortune,  and  the  ac- 
cursed of  the  heavenly  spheres,  went  forth  to  meet 
the  vengeance  of  the  law,  and  the  scarred  tom  cat 
Scorpio  was  alone  with  the  visions  in  the  crystal. 


[266] 


F 


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